


Crimson Tale

by Moochki



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adventure, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Explicit Language, Fantasy, Multi, Religious Conflict, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 92,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1248898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moochki/pseuds/Moochki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three restless trainees. Three banished knights. A werewolf and an heiress. A Lieutenant and his battleworn comrades. A city. A war. The awakening of the myths. The six reluctant heroes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Five steeds galloped in the night, their hooves violently ripping the grass and dirt from the ground.

The riders’ hooded capes danced in the wind like whips, a pair of minimalistic wings opposite to each other embroidered in them. Their gloved hands viciously gripped the reins, their eyes, determined and focused, stared at the black mass ahead of them, the pair of torches they brought along providing just a dim halo of clarity. Their chainmail armor, underneath their uniform’s sleeveless tunic, gripped their bodies uncomfortably like slender metallic fingers. The horses grunted with every guttural, strained breath.

“Sir, the outpost is in sight.” A deep voice, belonging to a dark skinned and broad shouldered man, announced.

“I see it.” The Lieutenant replied in its raspy voice, pupils adjusting to the dark, spotting the location.

The sighted outpost’s torch light made it recognizable in between all the trees and darkness. It was a settlement hid by flora; a few tents with uncomfortable bed-rolls had been raised, along with a much larger one raised for the purpose of discussing battle tactics against the Savages or to just review the situation until the present date. A wooden watchtower, with sloppy architectural design, was also present in the camp.

“I’m going to check on Hanji, wait for further instructions.” The Lieutenant said after tethering his horse, much like his squad-mates.

“Yes, sir!” the other four soldiers replied in unison, some more energetically than others.

After acknowledging his comrades, he directed himself to the large tent.

The tent’s ceiling formed a stretched hexagonal shape, providing for quite a spacious place. Inside, the center was occupied with a rectangular wooden table with a vastly illustrated map on top, some differently colored sculptures atop all the illustrations. The sculptures were both red and green, defining respectively the Savages and the Scouting Legion. They also varied from shapes and sizes, symbolizing squads, outposts or strongholds. The tent was also furnished with only the necessary furniture, like chests, stools and chairs, weapon racks and bookcases.

Inside, he could also find a woman, taller than himself, with dark brown hair, tied in a messy pony tail, chubby cheeks and a pair of big brown eyes adorned by thick eye lashes. She had her palms pressed firmly against the table’s surface and a focused look in her somewhat joyful-looking face. Her head shoots up at his appearance.

“Hanji.” The lieutenant greets.

“Dragged your ass here, Levi?”

“The dark made it hard for us to find the camp.” He joins her by the map “What’s the situation?”

She smirks at his straight-forwardness and proceeds to explain,

“Savage encounters are getting more frequent. They seem to have established camps throughout the woods and their numbers constantly increase. I don’t know how they do it.”

“Fighting is their way of life; if born from a Savage womb, once you come of age, you are taught how to fight.” He interrupts to clarify. She nods.

“They are attacking our own encampments, destroying our supply routes and hassling the farmers that live on the outskirts of the walls.” With a magnifying glass in her hand to aid her poor eye sight, she gestures it throughout the map and points at locations that illustrate her explanation. She drops the instrument when finished and looks at him “They are becoming a serious problem and, if they continue their constant bashing against us, this may turn into an all out war.”

“And I doubt the king and court would invest their money in Scouting Legion affairs.” He says, knitting his eyebrows together.

She nods again, “But they eventually will, if they don’t want to end up dead.”

He huffs in agreement.

“So, we’re here to scout the closest camp?”

“Not a camp, a stronghold.” she points at the sculpture atop the mentioned location. She glances at Levi when she hears him click his tongue.

“Erwin is out of his mind. Even if it’s just a scouting mission; it’s a huge risk for ten soldiers to approach a stronghold.”

“It should be alright, if we take caution.” She turns away from him and approaches the rack, picking up her belt, a dagger and a few pouches strapped to it, “Give me a minute to gear up.” After fastening her belt, she picks up her bow and quiver next.

Levi leans against the table and stares impassively at the floor. Hanji takes his silence and relaxed demeanor as his consent to her request.

“So this is why he didn’t give me many details regarding the mission.” He hisses.

“Strange, I clearly remember writing in the letter that my team needed back up for scouting a stronghold.” she grabs her cloak, formerly ungraciously bundled atop a chest “I guess Erwin tricked you.”

“He must have figured I would complain and purposely concealed the details.”

After noting the Squad Leader finishing tying the dark green cloak around her neck, Levi lazily moves from his position and walks towards the exit, Hanji following close by.

“Our Commander does have the habit of performing such deeds, though I like to think that he doesn’t do it out of malice, but rather for the greater good.”

Without irking his lips in any way, he snorts in agreement.

Outside, he is greeted by the site of eight other soldiers either shifting their weight from side to side in nervousness, drinking from their canteens water or wine, idly talking or standing watch. At the sight of their superiors, the soldiers silenced themselves and seized any activity.

“You lot ready?” Levi asked to the soldiers in general, scanning their facial expressions one by one as they nodded and straightened themselves “Good. Get in your horses, let’s move out.”

 

* * *

 

Shadows were friends of the Scouting Legion.

Often performing recon missions that required stealthy maneuvering and sharp planning, the usage of darkness was paramount. So they had become accustomed to a black veil blanketing them and anything around them, accepting the darkness as a blessing, rather than a curse, like most people depict it as.

They were scattered in a semi circle, eying the main gate of the stronghold. The horses were obviously left behind to some relative distance. Their hoods were loosely covering their heads. Crouched down, camouflaged by foliage, dressed in dark colors; they were nearly invisible.

Hiding in the dark, they scout.

Like most of Savage constructions, the stronghold in sight was nothing compared to any majestic stronghold belonging to a lord. Their defensive was weak; traps consisting of a disarray of wooden spikes close to the foot of their walls, as well as an abundance of poorly disguised pit-traps. The walls were wooden, a few watchtowers separated segments of the wall and a large wooden gate allowed entrance to the stronghold.

The gate was opened.

They could see Savage warriors, dressed in their typical barbaric-like armors and armed with rudimental weaponry, surrounding some sort of stage in the farthest North of the camp. A lot of other Savages were paying close attention to their gate, but they didn’t seem to be on patrol duty, but rather seemed to be waiting for something to arrive.

At this, Levi furrowed his eyebrows analytically. Not so far away, together with her team, Hanji also seemed to be in the same state of puzzlement, as he managed to make out her facial expression in the dark. Around him, his squad mates also commented in hushed tones. He returned his gaze to the front gate and continued watching.

He felt a pair of silent taps on his shoulder and his hand immediately rushed to grasp his sword. Turning his head to see what had crept up on him, he relaxed when he recognized one of Hanji’s squad members.

“Message from Squad Leader Hanji, sir,” he breathed out the words, oblivious to the scare of death he had provoked on his superior “The Squad Leader thinks it’s the best solution to infiltrate the stronghold so to better investigate the anomaly.”

Levi judged that the anomaly would be the commotion happening inside those wooden walls.

“Good job soldier, return to your position.” He dryly ordered and crouched over to a tall blonde with golden eyes. He tapped the blonde’s shoulder once,

“Eld, I need to speak to Squad Leader Hanji. You are in command while I’m away.”

“Yes, sir.”

Levi’s back was starting to ache from staying crouched for so long, yet he still managed to cross all the distance that separated him and the woman. She nodded at him upon his arrival.

“You’re insane.” He emotionlessly commented, sitting beside her and stretching his back “Did you forget those Savages guarding the gate?”

“What are you talking about?” she tilts her head.

“Your stupid plan.” He replies “How the hell did you intend on infiltrating the stronghold?”

“You could create a distraction and take the guards out of the way.”

“We can’t risk that.

“Then, why not skirt the stronghold. If we find some breach in the wall or higher ground, we can get inside. Send someone if you find something.”

It seemed like a decent plan. They did need to get inside to see what the Savages were planning, they couldn’t find anything just from standing out here.

“You take the west.” He started stepping away.

“Alright!” she gestured for her soldiers to come closer.

“And be careful.” He advised from over his shoulder. If he had looked, he might have laughed at the appalled face the woman had made. But, alas, he wouldn’t have understood the reason for such a shock.

As he arrived to his prior position, he noted his squad-mates huddling closer to receive their orders.

“Are we going in, sir?” a brunette with curly hair and a face with forced relaxed features spoke. His hand was loosely over the pommel of the sword strapped to his belt.

“Let the lord-lieutenant speak, Aurou.” censored a petite girl with golden eyes and puffy cheeks.

“We’re going to skirt the stronghold and search for a safe way in, or some orthodox way that allows us to see what they are doing.”

He heard Auruo breathe out in exasperation, discontent for his orders. Petra, the girl, censored him yet gain; a few seconds after Petra’s interaction, he heard Eld and Gunther, the broad shouldered brunette, scold the pair and reminding them that they were just a few feet away from a Savage stronghold.

               

* * *

 

He didn’t know if Hanji had made any discoveries, but on his part he had made none. Or appeared to have, since he was already halfway through the skirting operation and, upon close inspection of the wall and terrain, he had found nothing.

But perhaps this was his impatient mind speaking.

Meanwhile, some chanting as well as shouting had started inside the stronghold. He could hear loud drums beating in an energetic rhythm, the smell of smoke from a large fire tickled his nostrils.

“Quite a party.” Auruo whispered sarcastically.

“That can’t be good.” Petra commented to herself, fleshing out the thoughts inside the present soldiers’ heads.

A vein was protruding in his temple, shaking slightly, as if alive. His patience had run dry, it was imperative that he made a decision now; it was obvious the Savages were preparing something big that would shift the tide in this battle. It could turn it into a war, for all he knew, and missing this piece of information could be shattering for the civilized men.

Now he was desperate.

The wall had no breaches, despite the weakness of the structure. If they had hooks or siege ladders they could climb the wall; with that in mind, he could make a make-shift hook with rope and arrows, but if they rappelled the wall and penetrated the stronghold like that there was a large possibility that they could be caught. Too many attentive by-passers, too much light from the fires and too little room for stealth. Even if they just watched over the wall, so only their heads would be in view, there was a possibility that the arrows wouldn’t be able to sustain all of their weight.

Thinking about it like that, no matter how hard they shot the arrow, or how tight the rope would be around it, there was always the possibility that it wouldn’t be safe enough to climb with its aid.

As he looked around, he found a painfully obvious solution to their predicament.

“Climb on the trees.” He commanded and they rapidly obeyed.

Levi picked one close to the wall, like his comrades. The tree was relatively smaller, with sturdy main branches that divided themselves into thinner ones, giving the illusion of a wooden web. The multitude of leaves also provided for good cover and if he climbed high enough, he should be able to see. He should even be able to jump over the wall, though he was almost sure he would shatter his legs’ bones.

Putting those useless thoughts aside, Levi approached the tree and grabbed the nearest branch with both hands, lunging himself upwards with ease.

“Shouldn’t we advise Captain Hanji, sir?” Eld asked, a tree next to Levi’s. In the same tree, Gunther was helping Auruo up.

Levi pondered; would it be necessary? The trees were such an obvious solution, Hanji probably thought of it immediately. Although, he was almost sure, not because it was obvious, more like because climbing a tree would be more exciting than sneaking in, according to Hanji’s standards.

“Go. And take position there, do not waste time returning to me.” Better safe than sorry, Levi thought.

“Yes, sir!”

Levi kept climbing on, cautiously picking where to place his hands and feet. His built muscles easily hoisted his body upwards, farther away from the ground. When he felt satisfied with the height, he carefully turned his body in the direction of the Savage concentration and relaxed against the trunk. One hand was safely secured around it, while the other was gripping the branch where he was sitting; one leg was dangling over and the other was bent, close to his chest and its side pressed against the trunk.

Female breathing, beneath him, caught his attention. It was Petra, struggling to pull herself upwards towards a branch. Being the unexpected gentleman he was, he positioned himself in a balanced way, secured his strong hand around her gentle wrist, startling her who probably didn’t even realize he was there, and pulled her up, feeling his bicep and triceps tense with the pressure. By pulling her up beside him, he noted she really didn’t have much to grab unto to steady herself, aside from his own body, that is. Unless he had, while still grabbing her, swung her to the other branch, adjacent to his own, where she would be safely next to the trunk for support. Since he didn’t want to make her go through such a stunt, which would have probably been a very dangerous and incredibly intimidating experience for her, he realized having her side glued to his own, her small hand gripping his cloak was probably the only type of safety she could muster.

He was startled at her initiative, at first, but then understood she was just touching him like this in order to avoid falling over. With that, he pressed his body more against the trunk, his hand tightening its grip, and slithered his other hand around her shoulders. He felt her relax, as much as she could when one was a couple meters away from the ground.

He checked Auruo and Gunther and noted that they were well hidden and safely positioned as well.

Looking forward, he could finally see what all the commotion was about. A large number of Savages were surrounding a stage; there was an enormous tent, richly decorated in Savage fashion, it was impossible to look inside. Outside, there were the drummers he heard, who had ceased the ferocious beating on the instruments, and two pillars with burning logs strapped to them, blazes flickering in the wind, as if frolicking to the wild drumming.

He could also see a woman, dressed in a black robe too loose for her thin figure. Her spine curved painfully and upon looking more carefully, Levi could see how bony the woman really was around her wrists and fingers, how dirty and wrinkled her skin really was, reminding him of pieces of old parchment.

But it weren’t the numerous warriors that made him hold his breath. It wasn’t the horrid old woman.

It was the family of farmers idly walking inside the stronghold.

A man, a woman and a little girl.

Petra muffled her small gasp with her own hand. Levi couldn’t believe it either, swallowing saliva to moisturize his dry throat, jaws pressed firmly together.

They were walking very slowly, often dragging their feet or stepping over themselves. They bobbed their weight from side to side, their shoulders hunched, their arms hung lifelessly and moved according to their motions. The man’s neck failed to sustain his cranium, making it dangle lazily much like his arms; like him, the woman’s and the child’s necks also proved useless to support their heads, although theirs were slightly craned upwards and to the side, their facial muscles were relaxed, leaving their mouths opened and, probably, everything inside disturbingly dry. Looking harder, he noticed with dread how their eyes were completely white.

Upon gazing upon the farmers, the Savages began a different kind of chanting, accompanied by a different violent tune from the drums. The woman was speaking some dialect none of the Soldiers understood.

And the family followed the sound of the hag’s raspy voice, walking through the corridor of ecstatic warriors that had formed to greet these hypnotized visitors; as the three innocents walked by, the savages danced or jumped in their place, spread their fingers trying to touch one of the family members, but pulling back at the last second, either because they had been scolded by a fellow warrior, or for some other reason Levi couldn’t grasp.

They all looked about to burst in excitement.

And that made him furious; enough to make his lower jaw tremble, his nose wrinkle and his eyes darken.

He had always hated to witness unnecessary bloodshed.

But he didn’t move from his spot. Instead, he unconsciously tightened his grasp on Petra’s shoulder, probably enough to induce pain, but the girl didn’t seem to notice. Possibly too awestruck to physically feel anything.

One by one, each family member knelt down close to the profane woman, who was gesticulating strangely with her ugly hands. Seconds, minutes, passed and she firmly raised her arms, the sleeves of her robe sliding downwards and exposing old and withered arms with prominent elbows. Some Savages, carrying rope, hopped towards the dazed civilians.

Suddenly, each family member seemed to have woken up from a dream. Levi couldn’t see them clearly, but he could imagine their shocked, wide eyes, their lips parted in a confused and utterly afraid way, erratic breaths dashing in and out of their systems. Salty tears pooling at the corners of their eyes as they screamed the first questions that came to mind;

_“Where are we?! Who are you?! What do you want with us?!”_

The father, the symbol of strength and security in the household, would demand. His voice quivered, failing to sound threatening and instead seeming pleading.

No answers were received, and so survival instincts kicked in. They needed to flee. Flee, run for dear life, don’t look back and hope that these things were poor runners. Panic was clouding the adult’s minds, the child was paralyzed in fear, but still they would try to run away. They could be caught and killed… they _would_ be caught and killed. But they needed to try.

But they couldn’t; their hands were tied behind their backs with sturdy ropes and so were their feet. They moved around, pushed their muscles to their limits, to no avail.

_“PLEASE, LET US GO! PLEASE, LET US GO!”_

The mother, the symbol of fertility and duty in the household, would cry. She whimpered her begs for a while as tears washed her face.

The hag had gone off, long after awakening the family, leaving the three innocents alone with the beasts. But they made no effort to hurt or touch them. They kept their distance from them, leaving the farmers in the stage as they kept their constant jumping, dancing, screaming and chanting.

The drums kept beating.

Then, Levi heard an ear-crushing roar, belonging to no man or animal he had ever heard. Petra grunted against his chest and he himself almost led his hands to his ears, to muffle the sound, but remembered if he did so, he might lose his balance. Instead, he contorted his face in pain.

He stopped looking at the family when he glimpsed, from the corner of his eye, the cloth from the enormous tent being spread open. Levi gave it his full attention.

Time, sound and anything else defining the present faded away to him.

De didn’t know what was inside that tent, he never knew, but he figured it was something mundane… objects or people. He even remembered the heartless, old bitch walk inside, so he was half expecting for her to return. But she didn’t. It couldn’t be her. She was small and frail looking; and what was moving all those layers of cloth that composed the opening of the tent was big, robust, enormous in both height and weight.

It came in full view and Levi couldn’t believe his eyes. Or he would, if he belonged to a legend you’d sing about amidst the warmth of a tavern.

It was indeed tall and robust; at least three meters tall, would be taller if it didn’t hunch its back and if it had proportionate legs. Its facial features were compacted together: small eyes too close to its pig-like nose, lower jaw bigger than the upper jaw, exposing randomly sized but sharp and big teeth, ears were large and pointy. His skin was a dark green and charcoal colored hair grew vastly in his arms, legs and upper half of his back, but none on his head. He possessed broad shoulders, with powerful muscles bulging in his arms, neck and legs; his belly was oddly round, probably signifying a large appetite. It was also nude, shamelessly displaying its manhood.

Glancing over at his comrades close by, Levi noted they were as disbelieving towards this beast as himself.

The monster roared again, lifting its powerful arms and the Savages roared along with it.

This was apparently an ally of the Savages.

The beast looked over at the three farmers, its eyes shimmering under the fires, its head tilting slightly to the right curiously. It lowered itself, supporting its taller upper body with its big hands. It breathed in the face of the child and she almost passed out at the proximity of those big, yellow teeth.

Beside the child, the parents watched, horrified. Petrified. Silent.

A little itch on Levi’s brain whispered to him what would happen next, but he didn’t believe it. He couldn’t.

The beast stood to its original height and opened a distorted smile.

 _‘It won’t do it. It’s late, it must have had its full already.’_ Levi thought _‘It won’t do it.’_

The beast’s grotesque hand carelessly grabbed the child, her whole upper body filling his hand, the girl’s feet squirming epileptically.

Levi almost shouted. Instead, he merely watched as the monster slowly lifted its arm until it hung over its open, disgusting mouth, rows of putrid teeth probably connected by lines of vile moisture. It unclenched its hand and the girl fell, screeching a high pitched tune and scorching the Lieutenant’s memory, and Levi knew this would be his lullaby tonight. She hit her head along the smooth part of one of the monsters sharp canines, the hit not silencing her squeal, before the creature unceremoniously snapped shut its jaws. One of the girl’s legs never got to fully enter the beast’s mouth, so an explosion of blood erupted from the middle of the shin of the girl down to her foot, the scarlet liquid painting the teeth and dark green lips.

The rest of the leg dropped dryly on the floor, close to the parents. Blood drooped out of it and formed a horrid crimson lake that reflected the mother and father.

A family portrait.

Petra’s body shook from time to time, her hand over her mouth muffling her cries. Levi felt like stone.

The drums kept beating.


	2. The Realm

The dawn sky was clear; sketches of clouds randomly tinting the pale blue, warm tones from the rising sun slowly lighting the earth. It was quiet, no noise aside from casual rustling of the leaves or flaps from wings by various bird species as they freely flew.

Along the paved road, a woman, dressed in leggings, a tunic and boots, rode a black mare. She also had a scarf wrapped around her neck, of a dark red tone, swaying in the wind. The woman was pale, skin resembling marble unlike the tanned skin of the common folk; dark eyes, with a few streaks of indigo in the irises, were adorned by curly eyelashes and exotically shaped eyes. Her eyebrows were a thin, straight line. The woman was tall and seemingly built, with a round face framed by her straight, black hair that cascaded unto her upper back.

She had a loose grip on the reins, just tight enough to keep her balance as the animal galloped. There was a neutral expression on her face; a gleam of determination in her calm-looking eyes, she didn’t seem fazed by the beautiful sun rise or the peace from nature. On closer inspection, it was possible to see some annoyance on her features, as well.

She left the main road, turning to follow along a secondary path, the rocks from the pavement seemed rugged with usage. A two-floored, big establishment was in sight. The construction seemed dull and ugly to her eyes, with its dirty walls and closed blinds.

There was a sign over the door, _‘Miranda’s Pleasure House’,_ the woman read. Almost laughed at the lack of subtlety.

She dismounted and stabled her horse on a fenced opening, next to the establishment. She then left the make-shift stables, passing by a man, dressed in the Garrison’s uniform, snoring on a pile of hay, some empty mugs near his feet.

The inside of the establishment was as dull looking as it seemed from the outside. There was a receptionist, Miranda, and then there was a lounge full of tables and stools, a bar near the end of the room. Close to the bar, there was a stairway that led to the various rooms of the second floor. The pleasure rooms.

“Morning, Mikasa.” Miranda greeted, she seemed sleepy “Last room at the end of the corridor, to the right.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t have time for trivial greetings, and Miranda didn’t seem to mind. She strode past the lounge, not sparing glances at the mess of splattered food and drink or at the sleeping forms of shameless women with ripped, stained dresses or snoring, passed out, some adulterous, men scattered around the room.

“I admire you, you know,” Mikasa turned to look back at the woman “for having the patience to put up with him.”

Mikasa’s gaze softened as she looked at the ground, chilling, and warming, memories embracing her. She tugged on the scarf and answered curtly “I don’t have much choice.”

She heard Miranda snort behind her as she climbed the stairs, oblivious to true meaning of her words.

Upon arriving to the destined room, she didn’t bother with courtesies and nonchalantly opened the door as soon as her hand could reach the doorknob. It wasn’t locked. The air was heavy in the room and it smelt of wine and sweaty sheets and wet bodies and heat. She fought the urge to open the windows. Curtains were keeping the morning rays at bay, clothes were a disarray along the floor. There was a small, round table in the room, some stools huddled around it, one of it was toppled over.

And on the large bed, in the middle of the room, laying on his belly and sound asleep, was a well built, tanned, naked man, body molding with the dirty cushion, his hands folded beneath the pillow, sheets around knee level. Standing by the bed, gathering the rest of her clothes, dressed in a nightgown, was an older woman than Mikasa. And soon as she had opened the door, the woman had frozen and her whole face lit up, eyes wide and mouth in an ‘o’ shape.

“If you are his wife, yell at him.” She spluttered defensively “I was just doing my job.”

Mikasa didn’t pay much mind to the comment in favor of better analyzing the man. Now at the foot of the bed, she could see an unusual peaceful look on his face: his shaggy brown hair was disheveled and draping his forehead, his lips were slightly parted allowing the emission of low and guttural snores. The fact that he looked so vulnerable and relaxed was proof enough that he was sleeping like a rock, not just snoozing.

She turned to the prostitute, remembering that she owed her an explanation,

“I’m his sister.”

She approached the aforementioned round table and noted a ceramic jug, along with two mugs, the woman behind her gasping and muttering in her breath about her and her brother’s physical differences. She didn’t explain that they were actually foster siblings, instead, she let her nose hover over the mouth of the jug and inhaled. The scent was sweet and warmed her nostrils.

 _‘Wine.’_ She thought, mentally scoffing _‘Of course he would have wine.’_

She looked around and behind her found another partition of the small room. She approached it.

_‘Bathroom.’_

Among usual bathroom attire, she found a basin full of water. Satisfied with her search, she picked it up and returned to the bed and approached the man’s side. She felt the woman’s eyes on her, she was very silent and had stopped what she was doing to watch Mikasa expectantly. The pale woman watched the man’s rib cage expand and relax for a few seconds, contemplating his growth for a while, his broader shoulders and squarer jaw line.

But she couldn’t waste much time. She tipped the basin over, the liquid content splattering all over the man’s naked, warm back making him startle awake, gasp strangely and flip over on the wet mattress, adopting a defensive position. That appeared very weak just because of his complete nudity that Mikasa struggled not to get embarrassed by, her face maintaining her neutral look, eyes set on his.

“Eren,” Mikasa called, his wide jade eyes quickly adopting an angry look, swapping the previous shocked one “get dressed, training starts pretty soon.”

His face morphed again, this time of preoccupation. His nudity wasn’t obviously his main problem, as he pressed a closed fist to his parted lips, teeth marking the flesh of his index finger. Mikasa noted goose-bumps forming along his rugged skin, water droplets still slid down his lean back and arms, his shaggy brunette hair clung to his nape, his front hadn’t been hit by water.

“Fuck, Shadis will kill me!” Eren muttered to his fist.

 

* * *

 

Eren had dressed at un-human speed. Both twenty-year olds had urged for their respective horses to dash like arrows in the wind… all mere futile attempts at avoiding the inevitable: they wouldn’t arrive on time to their training under Sir Keith Shadis, former Commander of the Scouting Legion, recently nominated Baron by the King due to his accomplishments while in command, currently instructor to new trainees.

Shadis was a very strict man, his lack of kindness during training toughened the soldiers and prepared them for the life they would experience; this was probably the reason why his trainees were such fine soldiers. The arrogant and intimidating aura around his persona was magnified by his tall stature and penetrating amber gaze, accentuated by the dark bags under his eyes and its surrounding, small webbing of wrinkles.

Keith Shadis was not amused towards the sibling’s lack of punctuality. Long before their arrival, much like throughout all of their training, the trainees had already left their quarters and had collected themselves in the training courtyard, waiting for the Baron’s instructions. When Mikasa and Eren had arrived, they had been heavily humiliated by sarcastic and aggressive comments by their instructor, their fellow trainees suppressing their snickers and chuckles. Lastly, both of them had been assigned main targets in the initial exercise; groups of ten had been made, one of the members of the group would dress practice armor and fend for itself against the other nine trainees, all ten members were armed with wooden swords. ‘Practicing combat when a soldier is in a crushing minority’, Shadis had explained. All trainees had the option to decide amongst themselves who would be the defender, except for Eren and Mikasa, assigned in separate groups, forced to play that role.

By the end of training, Eren felt like he had been ran over by a cart. He dragged his feet towards the barracks, along with the rest of the trainees, to store the wooden swords as well as the practice armor. The barracks, situated in the courtyard, was an open space covered by a tiled roof that held all the equipment the trainees might require.

He only noticed the degree of tiredness and pain he was in when he tried taking of the armor. He could already imagine the purple bruises across his body. He grunted and panted as he fidgeted with the beltings of the stupid piece, letting out an exasperated breath when he finally undressed it.

“Hey, Eren.”

Eren craned his neck to recognize Armin Arlert, a childhood friend. The brunette nodded at him when he walked next to him, struggling more than the brunette to undress his armor. He furrowed his eyebrows at the boy’s stubbornness; Armin was shorter than most for a nineteen, almost twenty, year old, besides that, he was also far too slim for a soldier. He wasn’t a bag of bones, he had flesh and muscle, but he wasn’t very built like Eren, which made him lack the physique to endure the grueling exercises Shadis threw upon them. The boy clearly knew these facts, still, he volunteered to play the defending role in this exercise.

“Pretty…” he was breathing uneasily when he took off the piece off of his shoulders “Pretty …tough exercises today…!”

Eren took a few seconds to fully embrace the miserable state he was in; his blonde hair was disheveled and dirty, contrary to the usual perfect bowl haircut he kept it in. The sclera from his bright blue eyes was tinted red, there was smeared and dry blood near his nostrils and judging by the way he was breathing and by how much it seemed to hurt just for him to walk, Eren deduced Armin mustn’t have escaped the exercise with just a few bruises.

But he didn’t seem to care apparently, preferring to start small talk.

“By the way, you should get that looked at… it’s bleeding still, and I’m sure it’s going to blacken and swell.” Armin, bearing an analytical look, pointed at Eren’s eyebrow “Jean really was an idiot, he shouldn’t have aimed at the head…”

Eren almost brought a hand to his left eye, where Jean Kirchstein had slammed his sword against when he saw an opening, but managed to contain himself.

“He would have been a bigger idiot if he had held back.” Eren could feel his eyebrow stinging, he could feel a trail of blood drying against his face and he knew Armin’s diagnosis was correct; but he refused to get the wound checked at, he would not give that satisfaction to the pompous, opportunist prick that was Jean.

He focused on Armin’s health.

“Anyway, why are you worrying for me? Have you looked at yourself?”

“It’s only the ribs.”

“…and everything else.”

“Eren, I’m fine.” Armin said sternly, staring back at the taller boy “I can take care of myself.” he sniffed, then growled in pain, shakily bringing a hand to cover his purpling, red nose “… perhaps… perhaps I should _this_ checked, too…”

Eren snorted in amusement, making Armin smirk.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but don’t be ridiculous, you’re a mess, not just the ribs or the nose. But all of you; go get yourself checked.”

Armin scowled, eying Eren again annoyingly.

“Hypocrite. How am I supposed to concede to this when you are talking to me like that, barely standing, with a torn eyebrow?!”

“Okay, so-“

“Jaeger!”

Eren, as well as the rest of the trainees present in the barracks, silenced themselves immediately upon hearing Shadis bark his name at the entrance of the barracks.

“Since you and Ackerman were so punctual,” he said, sarcasm dripping off of his voice. “you’ll be both on cleaning duty, today. I want that floor to look, smell and taste like a soap bar, you hear?”

Eren suppressed a string of cuss words, but kept a neutral face as he looked back at his instructor.

“Are we clear, Jaeger?”

“… yes, sir.”

“Ackerman?” he shifted his gaze to next to Eren. The brunette was surprised, he hadn’t even hear the girl approach him. She calmly looked back at their instructor.

“Yes, sir.”

Her voice was steady, no apparent tiredness present in it. Eying her more thoroughly, Eren didn’t seem to find any hint that she could possibly be physically drained. Well, she did have standards to keep, being the prodigy and all.

“Good.” Shadis smirked “Get the hell out of here, all of you. You’re dismissed.”

As soon as the instructor turned his back to them, Eren turned to look at Mikasa and gave her an anguished look. She didn’t share his discontent, seeming nonchalant as ever. But he felt weird and knew he should say something.

“Huh, Mikasa… I’m sorry…”

Her expression did not change. He was tempted to look behind him, at Armin, in search for the right thing to do or say in this particular situation, but did not.

“What for?”

That wasn’t an answer he would expect. He frowned deeply.

“You know what for! Don’t act like you don’t mind!” his voice elevated a few octaves, sounding angrier than it should “Why did you even come after me this morning? If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be in this situation!”

He missed how the look in her eyes faltered and how her eyebrows slightly lifted. She was glad for the loud commotion inside the barracks, she wouldn’t have liked for the other trainees to witness such a moment between the two.

“If I hadn’t, you would have endured a much tougher punishment. I wouldn’t be able to live with that.” She turned to leave “Just don’t forget that you have to clean the mess hall, or I would have to do it all on my own.”

And with that she left, leaving Eren fuming in frustration and an eerie feeling of guilt that he refused to acknowledge.

And this is why he didn’t have many friends.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to see Armin with a reassuring smile “Talk to her.”

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he ran a hand through his messy hair “That’s the problem.”

He didn’t know how to talk to people. Armin nodded, he understood without him saying it out loud.

“Try, at least.”

He grunted, wrinkling his nose.

He didn’t know how to talk to people… especially, if they were girls.

 

* * *

 

Eren’s upper back was burning. The muscles on his arms were stinging, making him want nothing else but to stop brushing the wooden floor of the mess hall. Next to him was a wide bucket with soapy water, where he would regularly wet an old, big piece of cloth, which he was using for cleaning. Not far away from him, Mikasa was undergoing similar motions while cleaning the long tables, a similar bucket close to her figure. The spacious room was lit by by the chandeliers on the ceiling and by the candles placed along the tables.

The only sounds were Eren’s occasional grunts or annoyed breaths. Mikasa didn’t complain.

He would, from time to time, roll back up the sleeves of his old beige shirt. The brown cloth from his pants covering his knees was starting to get soaked by the water on the floor.

The girl would occasionally look in the boy’s direction, but say nothing. Just checking how he was faring, in how much pain he seemed to be… often she wondered if she should suggest switching tasks. But a part of her predicted that he would just answer angrily, like he did in the morning. She also looked his way secretly expecting for him to apologize, to show appreciation for dragging him into training… but knew that would be entirely out of Eren’s character. But a girl could dream.

On the other hand, the other part of her was irritated by his poor choosing of nocturnal occupations… and it was this part of her that was making her stoic and cold at the moment, not allowing her inner conflict to show in the outside.

“I swear to you…” he grunted from the ground, two rows of tables away from her “this place… has never seemed bigger.”

Her hand freezes in place, ceasing the circular movements it had once been doing.

_‘We’ve been here for I don’t know how long… and those are the first words you speak?’_

“If you complain, you’ll stay here longer.” She answers, voice low and clear. She returns to cleaning.

“I know, but still…” she hears his bones cracking. He probably stopped entirely to stretch his back; she doesn’t blame him, staying hunched like that for so long should take its toll on the body “…I can’t help but get that feeling.”

She doesn’t answer. She’s not good at small talk.

“Only a month, now…” there’s determination in his voice “In a month, we’ll finish our training and be allowed to enter the ranks of the Scouting Legion.”

She can’t help but stop her motions again. She stretches her back, so she’s at her full height, and looks his way. He doesn’t seem to notice how much his bullshit is bothering her, so she speaks up.

“Will you know duty by then?”

At this, he stops too, looking her way incredulously. She can see his eyebrows slowly casting a shadow on his eyes, forming his typical angry frown. He lets go of the cloth and rests his palms on his thighs, stretching his back as well.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She didn’t waver at his bitterness.

“It means, Eren, will you be at a whore house or at a tavern when the Scouts call you for battling Savages?”

Her words slammed his body; his mouth was agape, his eyebrows relaxed, his shoulders slumped.

“So… this is what this is all about?” he wasn’t bitter this time, instead, his voice sounded cynical “You have been acting like - this - because I fucked a girl and was late to training because of that?” he shouted.

She closed her eyes and lowered her head. She hated when he shouted. It always made her want to cry. But she wouldn’t. Not until he shed the first tear, at least.

“I am an adult, Mikasa; I can do whatever the fuck I want! If I want to get drunk and fuck girls then I’ll do it; they were my choices, I’ll lead with their consequences, not you!” his chest was heaving, his arms were hanging in the air “And you come talking to me about duty?! Of course I know duty; I knew it the moment those fucking Savages burnt my house and killed my parents...! Do you remember what I said then, all that time ago?! It’s because of them that I’m here and it’s because of them that I’ll join the Scouts!”

His unjust words seared through her, and she felt weak and angry. But she would not cry or scream back… not while this beast of a man was in control of the boy she knew. She would wait, silent and still until he was finished. Like she always did.

“Fuck, Mikasa…! You always do this shit! You always act like I’m your... your fucking baby brother that needs protection; I don’t need your protection! I can take care of myself!”

She bit down on her quivering lip, then slowly lifted her head to look at him with hurt eyes.

His voice volume was lowering, he was growling instead of yelling. She moved from her spot and walked steadily closer to him. She stopped when they were a meter away. She contemplated his bared nostrils, his wild eyes, his erratic breaths.

“Eren…” she took another step and fell on her knees next to him, she didn’t look at him as she whispered “…forgive me.”

The brunette looked away, his face shifted to a more solemn expression. Mikasa beside him kept herself in a submissive position; her back was hunching, her black locks were hiding her face, her arms were falling limply to her sides.

“You are all that I have left.”

There it was. Here they were again, in this situation. It had always been like this, ever since their families had been taken away from them; Eren would find ways to release his anguish, he would screw up and Mikasa would come to his rescue, he would get mad at her extreme protectiveness, he would scream, she would listen… then she would say those seven little words. And he would understand.

It had always been like this.

He was the angry kid with a resilient spirit. She was the broken killer with blind faith.

“I didn’t ask for this, you know…” he whispered “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life.” She whispers back, tugging at the scarf around her neck “That’s a debt I’ll never be able to pay.”

He scoffs, but he understands. He feels one of her hands closing in around his bigger, calloused one. She applies some pressure around it, to reassure herself, he lets her do as she likes.

“I won’t be doing these things once we enter the Scouts, no.” he explains “It’s just… I need something to distract myself until then. And training isn’t enough, no.” He then tentatively scoffs “Plus I’m a guy, I have… you know.”

She snorts, still avoiding his eyes, as he was with hers.

“Yeah… that’s why…” He swallows and licks his dried lips “But once we enter the Scouts, I’ll have achieved my life goal…” he then furrows and glowers “To end the war and eradicate the Savages.”

 

* * *

 

_…The following morning…_

Close to Sina, His Lordship’s castle, were the castles and lands of the commanders of their respective military branches. Lord-Commander Erwin Smith’s was the farthest from Sina, taking a full day on horseback to reach it.

Having a castle, monetary power, lands and their own respective armies were all perks from the title of commander, or constable. In military ranks, above them stood only the High-Constable, the military advisor of the king and the one that controlled his armies in his place, Darius Zacklay, and of course His Grace himself, representative of his people and ruler of the realm. Not associated to the army but still with similar rights, were powerful people who the king would compensate with titles such as dukes, counts, viscounts and barons. Lastly, there were the knights, “Sirs” or, in some rare cases, “Ladies”, with solely the right of title and their own property.

The commanders would stay in their respective castles to plan strategies, send or receive information via couriers or ravens or to tend to political meetings. In Sina, in their respective branch’s headquarters, they would keep their lieutenants to lead their soldiers in their place, as well as to represent their respective military branch.

Levi was the Scouting Legion’s lieutenant, his place was in Sina, but due to the most recent expedition, he had travelled to his Lord-Commander’s castle, accompanied by Hanji, as well as their corresponding teams.

In the confinements of their leader’s castle, up the vertiginous snail stairways leading to the upmost levels of the massive construction, was the commander’s office. The man spent most of his time inside that room, sitting in front of his desk, leading with the disarray of paper work atop the wooden piece of furniture. There was always a peaceful silence inside that room, disturbed only by manifestations of nature; glorious sunlight in the summer, roaring of thunder or wind and slaps of rain water across his tall windows, in the winter.

Erwin Smith had his elbows resting atop his desk, fingers laced together, eyes closed in a thoughtful manner. Inside his quiet office, were present his lieutenant and the female squad leader, the former looking out of the window, the latter sitting in a chair in front of his desk, arms lazily hanging over the chair’s arms.

Erwin inhaled deeply, then exhaled, resting his forehead against his laced fingers for a few seconds.

“You mean to tell me…” he started, head still against his hands “…that what you discovered in that stronghold two nights ago” he sighed again “… was that they have a… troll.”

“That’s what I wrote in the report, yes.” Hanji answered smoothly, gesturing to the parchment atop the commander’s desk.

Erwin lifted his head so he could look at the woman in front of him, blue eyes appalled at relaxation of the brunette regarding the topic at hand. He unlaced his fingers to bring a hand towards his temple, massaging the protruding and pulsing vein, closing his eyes

“In other words, you are saying that the Savages have trained, or tamed, a beast from a fairy tale… That this thing, fed on three civilians, who walked into the stronghold seeming hypnotized and that these civilians served as sacrifices to the beast.” Erwin looked back at the brunette “Correct?”

“Yes, Erwin.” She answered. Hanji Zoey had the habit of ignoring formalities towards her superior, even in public, the title of ‘Lord-Commander’ was never applied towards Erwin, much to his annoyance, considering him ‘too close a friend’ for such treatment.

“I believe that is how they managed to become allies with the troll, by feeding it with sacrifices. The constant encounters between Savages and our very own civilians could provide with these ‘sacrifices’, among other things they usually salvage… namely, weapons and armor and supplies like food or water, or gold even if I don’t believe they’d find this very useful but they still take what they find. But those have been previously reported, the deaths are the ones that have never been analyzed, we always thought them being casual deaths with no deeper meaning.”

Levi’s gaze shifted from staring out the window to glaring intensely at the brunette as she described previous deaths as ‘casual’. Noticing his glare, she looked back at him, seeming as aloof as ever, even shrugging as if asking ‘ _what?_ ’

“Levi,” the tall, broad shouldered blond called “you’re my lieutenant. What would you do if a case like this were presented to you?”

Levi looked back at his commander.

“I would exile the soldier that would propose such an idea to me. I don’t care if there were ten witnesses or fifty. It’s madness I refuse to believe.” He averted his gaze back to the outside world “Ironically enough, I was one of the witnesses. Still, I can hardly believe it.”

“You can relate to my position, then.”

Hanji’s eyes were quaintly watching the exchange between both serious men. When silence had settled in the room once more, she turned to her commander.

“What will you do, Erwin?”

The third, long sigh escaped his lips.

“This information is not to be public. We must swear secrecy, so must your respective teams.”

At that, Hanji’s eyes widened in astonishment, her jaw dropping.

“You want to keep this a secret?! Erwin, this is crucial information! The military should prepare in case beasts like those attack our city! Trolls are incredibly common in the wilds, if they have one, they can have plenty more!”

“Hanji.” Levi growled, forehead muscles painfully constricted “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“…huh?” she wasn’t swayed by the short man’s anger, keeping that glint in her eyes alive.

“You’re speaking like a madwoman, speaking like you know so much of the matter, implying that they could have more… and worst, proposing that we should inform the military.” He scoffed “What would we do, write a letter to the king? _‘My liege, the savages have trolls. They could have fairies and dragons and ogres and goblins as well, we should prepare!’_ …”

She hooked her index finger over her upper lip, eyes seeming thoughtful.

“That’s…actually a pretty good assumption.”

Levi felt a jolt of disbelief cross his being. She was actually taking him seriously. His hand clenched into a fist, nails pressing against his palm, the bones from his fingers almost snapping with the pressure he was applying.

Erwin could feel the violent aura emanating from the skilled killer close to him.

“Hanji,” he called, attempting to ease the tension in the room “what you are proposing is, indeed, madness.”

She arched her eyebrows, ignoring Levi, who still seemed very angry. She was about to protest once more, but he brought his hand up, palm facing her, and spoke before she could.

“The both of you are ones of my most trusted soldiers. You’ve been under my lead basically since I was nominated Commander of the Scouting Legion. So, even if the topic is so… subjective, I will believe you. Ten people seeing the same thing, is somewhat hard to ignore.” he allowed his words to sink in “But ten people are nothing compared to the population of Sina, or the realm at that matter. They’ll call us mad, they’ll call us infidels and then the Inquisition will torture and hang us for proposing such a thing.”

The Inquisition, the agents that applied the Church’s justice, had settled itself in Sina some decades ago, the city’s chapel being their sanctuary. They keep an iron fist rule over the people’s beliefs, not tolerating any other religions or cultures aside from Christianity. Books, many of them regarding legends and myths that Hanji craves so much, have been burnt or censored and priests and bishops often pull a string in the city’s rule. Hanji wasn’t afraid of the Holy Church, often insulting it; she was under protection, her father being a very influential nobleman, could easily pay for the Church’s silence.

Nobody denies gold, even if they were ‘sent from God’.

“We will keep this between us. I’ll make more scouting missions like these, so we understand better their… offense. Meanwhile, I’ll send a raven to Pixis, urging for him to strengthen the defenses throughout Sina with more Garrison troops. Levi, do you need reinforcements on the forest?”

“Not yet, there haven’t been many casualties or attacks. I think we’re fine with the men we have. The Garrison’s better off defending the city.” he seemed calmer “Times like these when I’m glad for the dropouts that join the Garrison.”

“What about Nile Dok?” Hanji asked. They both looked at her strangely.

“All the Military Police can do is scratch their asses and get drunk. They are as useful to the military as tits are on a chicken.”

“My relationship with Lord-Commander Nile Dok isn’t very good. He hasn’t assisted once throughout the Savage Crisis, I doubt he would assist now."

Hanji hummed, scratching her nose.

“Indeed, the Military Police could be of more help.”

 

* * *

 

The sun had traversed to the center of the sky at this point, bathing Sina in strong sunrays. She could see the marketplace, countless stores and a messy throng of people. She didn’t like it; too much noise, so much so, that she could hardly distinguish the sounds as the yelling mixed in with the laughing and with the joyful tunes of drums, flutes and guitars. But what she disliked most wasn’t the noise, but the obvious corruption and illegal business being performed behind the guards’ backs.

It always made her think back on the oh so just rule that they all lived in.

She could also see other things; the labyrinth that were the small roads in between buildings, the tall towers of the chapel scraping the clouds, attempting to reach the heavens. People starving in the filthy slums, close to the walls, bathed in disease.

She accommodated her back against the stone wall, arms crossing in front of her chest, neck turning every so often to capture more imagery of the city. The balconies of the King’s castle really offered astounding views.

Reiner Braun, her comrade, cackled close to her before proceeding with his rambling. His breath stanch of wine. Bertholdt Hoover, sitting on the same small round table as Reiner, would shyly chuckle or utter an introverted comment in response to the man’s behavior.

Her comrades, Reiner Braun and Bertholdt Hoover. Or were they her friends? People would think so by the amount of time they spent together, if by ‘spending together’ they mean listening to the two of them talk. She didn’t know what they were to her, she never tried to define them. She trusted them and to her, that sufficed. Let other people do the unnecessary cataloguing work.

Deeply she hoped they trusted her too, Annie Leonhardt, the infamous lone wolf.

The smell of smoke stung her nostrils, bringing her to reality. Close after, she heard the bells from the chapel, followed by intensive preaching. The Inquisition was burning people again on their pyres, she deduced. She thought of the men and women currently burning, the filthy priest singing at them.

She thought of the people killing for food in the dirty streets, while here she could walk a few steps and eat until her stomach would burst. She thought of her fellow policemen, not only Reiner, enjoying their wines, as Scouts risked their necks against Savages.

Her eyes slightly darkened as she thought of her father, living outside in the middle of the mountains, sleeping on a bed of hay, whereas she slept in silky sheets.

“Hey… hey, Annie…!” Reiner’s slurred voice cut through her thoughts “Why don’t you sit with us? There’s another stool… you’ve been standing there, all alone for so long…”

Her eyes adopted that bored look again before looking back at the tall, broad, blonde. His short hair had a messy fashion, he had probably ran his big hand through it. His light brown eyes were gleaming, his cheeks were beet red, “… I mean I know you’re into that, for some reason. I’m still to understand the appeal of _walls_ … they must tell some really interesting things. Anyway, c’mon, have a sit!”

“You’re… daydreaming, Annie.” Bertholdt said quietly. The man was a contradiction to Annie’s eyes; so tall, so intimidating in his full plate armor, a greatsword on his back. Yet Bertholdt was the man with the least self-confidence she had ever met, always nervous to speak his mind, constantly, nervously sweating and stuttering, and it all worsened around her.

Of course, Annie was no fool to the real reasons of this. But she ignored.

She walked over to their table and silently sat down between them. At her motions, Bertholdt smiled and Reiner chortled.

“You’re so nice, sometimes… accepting our company…!” Reiner grinned.

“‘ _Sometimes_ ’?” she turned to him “You’re not starting this very well. And you reek of wine, why am I here, again?”

“You know how he is… with drinks…” Bertholdt commented beside her, smiling down at her.

Reiner roared in laughter.

“Like you’re not used to the wine by now… c’mon Annie, you should know better!” he slams a hand on her much smaller shoulder, making her wince and almost lose her balance on the stool. Her eyes look up at him, beneath her pale eyelashes and furrowed brows. He immediately removes his hand, shivering and shrinking in her gaze.

He laughs lowly, as if apologizing.

“Don’t you think we make the most amazing trio?” he says, changing the topic “Just looking at us… people should love us! I mean, we even come in different sizes and shapes; if you want tall and slim there’s Bert… if you want tall and broad there’s me… and if you want short and… well, short there’s you, Annie!”

Bertholdt laughs next to her. Her cold demeanor retreats, slightly affected by his humor, even if he was somewhat mocking her small stature.

“Again… why am I here?” she pulled some of her blond bangs behind her ear and rested her head on her palm.

“So…” Reiner started, filling his glass with more wine “What’s gotten you so worked up, Annie?”

There were no other glasses. He gestured his glass towards her, almost spilling the red liquid.

“Resulting to alcohol to get answers out of me?” she asked, face bored-looking as she accepted the glass. A tasting sip, warmth down her throat, a sweet taste in her tongue.

“I’d need something stronger than that to get you drunk… something much stronger.” He giggled “You’re immune to drunkenness.”

Bertholdt watched as the scene unrolled in front of his eyes.

“I’m not immune, you’re just too big of a lightweight.” She took a long gulp on the drink, passing Reiner the cup, knowing the taller of the two would deny if offered “Knowing that, what’s the point in making me drink?”

“To occupy you… so you don’t daydream…?”

“And why would I do that?”

He drank.

“You haven’t told us yet.”

Sweat started to moist Bertholdt’s forehead. Annie was tapping her slender fingers on the wood, the other hand supporting her head in its palm. Her blue pools were piercing Reiner’s golden ones.

“Staying in the Military Police really has been an illuminating experience.” She started, he was drinking while looking at her “We get to live inside those big houses, shrouded by this big castle which we supposedly protect. Which we don’t, the fact that we are drinking and talking in our shift proves it. And like us, most of the Military Police are doing the same thing, entrusting the Garrison with the security work.”

“The fact that there is so much of the Garrison here, instead of with the Scouting Legion already is something that is pisses me off.” He drinks the last of the wine and refills the glass, he hands it to Anne for her to drink “I mean, how many people does our king want around to watch him take a dump?”

“Reiner!” Berthold ushers.

“At least we don’t wipe his ass, like the people and the Scouts do.”

“A-Annie!” she doesn’t even spare him a glance, instead finding interest in the view over the balcony.

Seconds of silence. A hiccup from Reiner.

“So this is what was on your mind?” the broad man asks.

She doesn’t answer. Her eyes are following the smoky remnants on the sky from the pyre of before. She doesn’t speak, so Reiner does.

“Interesting how much of this bullshit hierarchy you can learn by just staying a month in here. Only the top ten from your trainee group are allowed to enter the ranks of Military Policemen… all of us are, supposedly, very skilled soldiers but we are all huddled here in wonderland lazing around, filling our stomachs and pockets.”

“Do you want to get out?”

Her eyes were back on his.

“… get out?” he let his head down, scratching the table with his index finger “I do. But I can’t. How can one man make a difference? People only accomplish things when they are under pressure… you’ll see. Once the war breaks out, the Military Police will shine.”

Annie thought on his words as she wet her lips on the glass. She retreated her mouth before drinking.

“Doesn’t have to be under pressure.” Reiner looked at her through his gleaming eyes.

“An idiot can bring change, too.”


	3. Why We Fight

 

_Chubby, clumsy hands stress with needles and cloth, attempting at knitting. Mother, beside me, works with slender and skillful hands, motions too quick for my eyes to follow. She notices I’m staring._

_“You’re going well, Mikasa! Keep it up!”_

_She smiles warmly. It’s encouraging beyond comprehension, a mother’s pride in their daughter._

_I pull back the long sleeves from my white dress. I fidget with the needle in one hand, the other is holding the cloth in place. Brows furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together, eager to earn more smiles from the woman I admire._

_These are my hands. This is my mother. This is my home._

_The dining room is just as I remember it; the cracking of wood on the hearth, the basket of bread at the center of the table, the old lines and small fissures in the wood embodying the furniture._

_The girl sitting on the table is the clear image of my younger self. Joyful smile, blithe look on naïve eyes, not a single care in the world._

_I feel like I am caged in the confinements of my subconscious, ethereal shackles around my wrists, their chains are long, so allow some movement. All around me is darkness, a never ending mass of black. This is where I’m in, I’m sure of it. I know it. Yet… what I see… are my memories. In front of my eyes I see the complete recreation of that night; every movement is the same, no elements of the house are out of place, no sentences spoken are different from what I remember. I can even swear that the smells and textures are equal, like my senses are actually collecting information._

_This is torture._

_How many times as this happened?_

_How many more times are still to come?_

_My mother’s lips move, but I don’t listen. I answer but I don’t mean it. I laugh and smile, and I hate it. I want to grab her wrist and drag her away, save her from a fate that I know she… can’t escape. Deep down, I know it. I always fight it, but I know it._

_My head turns, I see my father. His robe is of a dark green, like I remember, the rest of his clothes are exactly the same too. His face still bears those tender features, those calm and gentle eyes, that warm smile contemplated by the unshaved beard. I want to jump off of my seat and crush his bones with a hug, bury my head in his chest and bask in his scent._

_Tell him how much I miss him, how much I love him. Tell him how much danger he’s in._

_But I do no such thing. My eyes travel to his figure, I smile briefly, greet him with some happy words. He smiles back, a radiant smile directed at me and my mother. He walks to the table to steal some bread from the basket, plants a kiss on my mother’s head before leaving._

_I choke a scream. I beg for my father not to leave, to let me save him. I plead as fat tears drench my cheeks._

_My younger self gets back to knitting, my mother hums a tune, honeyed with her happiness_

_The needle is smooth in my petite fingers, and it glimmers under the sunlight peeking past our windows._

_I want to stab it into my eyeball. I want to smash my head into the table and feel the splinters on my face. I want to dig the floorboards with my hands, scrape dust and wood with my little nails, and vomit ash and bleed tears._

_I want to escape._

_Mother… father… I need to save them...!_

_I still have time. I can do it. I could grab them both, take them to our horses and ride to Eren’s home, where we would be safe. There’s still time! Mother and father wouldn’t understand; they would ask questions… but at least they would survive!_

_I can do it!_

_I feel the discomfort as I struggle with my illusionary chains. I feel an unexplainable pressure, imaginary physical drainage. I try to escape from whatever surreal prison my conscious is in, so that useless childish body can act according to this adult mind._

_I fight these shackles with all of me. The clock is ticking. Mother is singing, I think I’m singing along. I move and squirm in place. I pull the chains to their limits, my fists are white balls of clenched flesh and burning blood. From my throat escape bellowing screams mixed with anguished and desperate cries. Hopeless apologies, desperate pleads, whimpers along with pitiful sniffing and crying._

_I try once more, pull harder, scream louder._

_My lungs burn. My muscles feel like bursting. My wrists are raw flesh, the chains around them reflecting my image, mockingly._

_My struggles are proven hopeless._

_Defeated, engulfed by my weakness, I realize that there are no chains. There is no adult Mikasa, no black prison, no subconscious confinement. There never was. All there is are my memories; the child, the mother, the father, the killers. And my voice, a useless shadow hiding in the corners of this house, watching helplessly as this nightmare drags along. I merely watch and rant, never allowed to intervene._

_I always come to this realization, yet I still feebly attempt a rescue._

_It still takes a while before the murderers arrive. Times goes by and my heart experiences the darkest of emotions. Like fiends, they store themselves in my being, a beast of anguish, fear, guilt, hopelessness and anger._

_There’s a knock on the door, my being convulses in despair to the three consecutive sounds. I watch as my father, ever the gentleman, runs over to the door before my mother can reach it._

_Seconds after the door had been opened, my father shivers strangely, stopping in the middle of his joyful greeting. Shaky breaths and quiet gasps escape his mouth. The wet sound of a blade retreating raw flesh is heard, blood gurgles out of my father’s belly, scarlet spots drop at his feet. He wobbles backwards before falling to his right, silent and cold._

_The girl and my mother just stare, eyes wide in shock and fear._

_They utter some warnings. They are three men with knives and axes and no morals to speak of. We are a child and a woman with knitting tools and linen. My mother surely knew these facts, still, she grabbed a pair of scissors and jumped at the assailants, shrieking like a madwoman, telling me to run away._

_As if I could._

_How could I run away when my father is dead on the floor and my mother is wrestling against a man who is far bigger than herself and is bearing an ugly, sharp axe? And why? Why should I run away and leave my mother to die? I should have fought, I shouldn’t have stayed there in the middle of the room, petrified and being completely useless…_

_I should have fought._

_Such a stupid, spineless, naïve, worm of a girl._

_Instead of acting, I just watched, like I always did. I watched as the man panicked with my mother’s struggles and angrily bludgeoned my mother’s neck with his axe. The horrid sound of metal chunking flesh and crushing bone, an explosion of blood, a shrill of a dying woman. My mother fell to the ground, still crying, still bleeding. She turned around to look at me with horrified, red eyes. One hand is pressed against her wound, the other is reaching out to me._

_‘RUN’ I read in her eyes ‘PLEASE, RUN’ one last time she pleaded for me to leave her._

_Another time she failed._

_I just stood there, eyes shifting between my parents’ corpses. I just watched. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything._

_Weakling. Coward. Useless. Stupid._

_Why didn’t I fight? Eren would have fought. If I had fought… I would have won. I would have killed them. All of them. I could have saved at least mother. Instead, I gave up. And lost._

_Coward. Coward._

**_Coward. Coward. Coward. Coward. COWARD. COWARD!_ **

Mikasa gasped loudly, lips brushing the cushion of her bunk bed, hair a black mane splattered all over. Her forehead is pressed against the cushion as well, pillow tossed to the side. Her fingers are gripping the sheets so tightly they could rip. Her eyes are wide and distressed, scanning the room and finding comfort in her sleeping comrades. Her breathing is loud and quickened, her heartbeat is thumping in her chest and roaring in her ears.

She stood, her shirt sticking to her sweaty back, and supported her forehead in one of her hands, closing her eyes and mouth, allowing her body to calm itself before she attempted at calming her mind.

She allowed herself a few minutes of silence and complete stillness before she managed to get out of the bed. Looking upwards at her bunk-partner, Sasha Braus, she noticed she was, as she had predicted, sleeping like a rock, a line of drool slipping her mouth as she snored. Mikasa stopped looking at Sasha to find the rest of her female comrades still asleep, at least the ones present in her room. Good.

The exotic woman walked a few steps to find the chest of her belongings in front of her bed. She kneeled and opened it, revealing it to be somewhat empty, just a few clothes and Mikasa’s life tokens. She took one of them out, fabric swallowing her unsteady hands in maroon warmth.

She buried her face in Eren’s scarf.

The nightmares weren’t common, but whenever they happened, a ritual like this was always needed. Funny how he didn’t know he always kept her demons at bay.

After she had managed to push all of the memories and pain back to the secluded, desolated corner of her mind, she stood, coiled the scarf loosely around her neck and left her room, walked a few steps along the hallways of the female dormitories, and entered the bathroom.

She cleansed her body of sweat with a humid cloth and washed her face with the water from the basin, quickly combing her hair afterwards. She returned to her room and dressed herself with her uniform, walking up to her chest once more to retrieve the last two tokens.

Two swords, thin and long, with a slight curve to the blade. A light brown scabbard with intricate, yellow details, was hiding away the steel. The grip was covered in a crisscrossing material soft to the touch. The guard was a small, foreign symbol, a fat cross with curved corners. The pommel was very simple, just a small ornamental piece that marked the end of the weapon.

Katanas, given to her father as wedding gifts by her grandfather.

Mikasa’s mother was from the east, shipped to the main land in order to marry a fair, wealthy baron from the main land, her father.

Then, Mikasa was born.

She remembers being a small girl and staring up at both elegant weapons on display on a weapon plaque, her big eyes gleaming with curiosity, her small fingers itching to reach out and touch. She also remembers Grisha Jaeger, Eren’s father, walk up to her with both swords in his hands, a day after the murder.

 _“The Garrison was investigating the crime scene today,”_ he had said _“I wouldn’t let them take anything that belonged to you.”_

She accepted them, as memorials of her family, as well as symbols of the eastern roots she never got to meet. At that time, she didn’t think she would need them. Now, she would never trade blades, preferring the fine steel and elegance of the swords to any other blade she had ever encountered.

She strapped her katanas to her belt, one swaying on each of her hips, and left. Outside, a theatre of shadows and moonlight was playing, but she could easily find her way towards the training courtyard in the dark. Aside from having a spacious empty place with arid ground, there was also a shooting range and practice dummies for training marksmanship and sword fighting.

Face to face with a doll of hay, wood and iron, Mikasa brought each hand to its opposite hip and unsheathed her blades.

Hours later, the first rays of sun greeted the world, and Mikasa was still practicing.

 

* * *

 

She’s whimpering quietly, stammering her teeth repetitively, her eyes are shut tight and a deep scowl is adorning her face.

She’s shivering; her bones seem weak and fragile, she can’t feel the tips of her fingers or her toes. She guesses that her lips are purple. It brings her some consciousness in her slumber, the knowledge that she’s cold.

Why is she cold? She’s never cold.

She pushes her knees even closer to her chest, her arms glued to it as well, so she’s as much of a ball as she can be. She tries to envelop herself as tightly as she can, yeaning for warmth. As cold as she feels, she doesn’t want to get up just yet. She’s lazy and demands her sleep.

But the sun is burning her face, disturbing her with its bright rays, that although warm her, create such a clarity that denies her a peaceful rest. She groans in annoyance, and the sound is incoherent because of how cold she is. She shifts her position, in order to hide her face from the sun.

But her struggles are pointless… she’s already, fully awake.

She utters rude breathy sounds as she stands to a sitting position, her eyes fluttering open. After blinking consecutively and wiping the sand from her eyes, she gasps as she realizes she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

Awareness fills her being entirely and her senses startle awake.

“Where the hell am I?” she mutters alarmingly. And then suddenly the answer to the eerie cold was painfully obvious, “And where the fuck are my clothes?!”

On instinct, her eyes quickly scanned the area she was in, daring for the existence of perverted fools. Her whole body was tense and she found herself in incredible unease; hands firmly pressed against the ground, her arms, shoulders and back stiff and rigid. She didn’t mind her uncovered chest, strong believer that tits were a common sight in this world, but due to an unexplainable instinct of natural self-perseverance, her legs were bent in a way that would partially hide her lower region.

“How the hell did I get here…?” she brings one palm into her head, the digits digging into the skin as she tries to pull out the answer.

“Why can’t I remember?!”

Her head throbbed as the woman searched her memory. She was cold. She was confused and lost and slowly panicking. Her mind was a disarray of questions. She’s disturbingly hungry and thirsty too, to add up to her list of current alarming conditions.

“Alright… stop. Calm down…” the woman closed her eyes and took deep breaths.

“Let’s start with simple things…” the cold was eating her alive, but she shrugged it off in favor a mandatory personal instrospection “My name is Ymir. I’m 22. I’m from… Maria.”

She breathed in.

“I left Maria on a ship and got on a chariot to travel to Trost… I was… alone.”

Cold was starting to die against her despaired sweating.

“Was I alone…? I think I was. Oh, fuck me…”

Her other hand joined her forehead, her back was hunching with her nervousness.

“I… remember heading to that bar, having a few drinks… but I don’t think I drank enough to crash in the middle of nowhere, completely naked. Unless I had some company. Which evidently left already - opportunistic _cunts_.”

Her shoulders shook as she chuckled forcibly. She inquired herself with a few more personal questions, resulting in the realization that her memory loss was only apparent in last night, a blank page in her memory that itched at her, disturbingly.

But aside from her buzzing head, she hungered like an animal and her throat felt like sand, so it was painfully obvious which course of action was wisest for her to take. She couldn’t stay here, she need to move; many possible unpleasant experiences could occur if she were to remain here… she would much rather stay alive.

She got on her feet determined to find clothes, food and drink before searching for answers. She got a good look around herself; she was in a forest, numerous tall and small trees alike randomly sprouted from the dirt. There was much life in this forest, even she could see this. Which was strange since she deemed details unnecessary unless the subject entirely piqued her interest. Grass covered the earth like a green blanket; curious buds from mushrooms would peep from the grass blades, close to rotting branches in the ground or intensively growing on the earth. Flowers with vivid colors added a charm and aroma to the forest. And if she were to look, she knew she would find boars and squirrels, maybe even foxes and deer.

She had slept at the foot of a tree, in front of her, she could see a clear way out.

“At least I took care not to stray too far away from civilization.”

She walked, her feet smothering grass, dirt and leaves. Outside of the forest, there were vast and grassy plains. In the distance, she could see the main road, and following it with her eyes, she could see the grey image of a stronghold of massive proportions. Scattered throughout the terrain were small houses with simple structures, large farming fields, green with crops, taverns along the road and common settlements like hunting huts and mills, be it for lumber tending or cereal and bread production.

She smirked, already tracing her plan for survival. Her initial distress was long gone.

 

* * *

 

Annie Leonhardt pulls an arrow from her quiver. She positions it against her bowstring, her pointer finger dangerously, yet comfortably, close to the shining, steel tip of the arrow. She inhales and pulls back the string, tightly secure in her index, middle finger and thumb. Her icy irises, confident and relaxed, are fixed on her target a couple of meters away. The white, goose feathers of the arrow softly tickle her cheek. As she exhales, she releases the projectile, watching, deadpan, as it soars and spins before piercing its target, a few millimeters away from the center, since an arrow is already occupying that challenging, little red dot. Like that one, many others are surrounding said red mark. It makes the hay-made, cylindrical target appear to be an orthodox art piece.

She sighs, closing her eyes as she secures blonde clumps of hair behind her ear, only for it to stubbornly fall back into its original place. Although she’s thankful for her skill, the constant lack of compelling adversaries deeply annoys her - dragging a life of boring safety, she fears one of these days her tedium will break her sanity.

But how long as it been since she’s seen real danger?

She blinks as she indulges in these thoughts and readies another arrow.

Is she supposed to think of that? Shouldn’t she be grateful that she’s at peace, away from the war behind the walls?

The bow string tenses as it is pulled, the fine wood creaking under the pressure.

Yes, she is grateful. She’s heard the rumors, of the ambushes in the night, of the significant lost of territory and human lives, of the demoralizing numbers that form the Savage army. Considering these factors, Annie is very positive that she does not wish to partake in such a war. Her life is uneventful yes, and she wakes up to pointlessly dress armor and strap a pair of fine, twin blades to her hips. But she really needs to endure this, no matter how tedious it is, and she needs to constantly remind herself of that.

She has a promise to keep to her father.

Her cold fingers release the string. The arrow whistles.

_Thump!_

Her father. She hasn’t written in a while. She should write… no. She should visit.

Her father lives alone, on the peasant region of Sina, outside of the walls. The difference between the humble farmers and hunters and the sick poor that die inside of the walls, is that the latter is absolutely hopeless. They do not live, they merely wait to die.

Annie’s father, like the rest of the people who share his lifestyle, doesn’t live, he survives. He restlessly hunts, he cooks with what he catches, he cleans his own messes and licks his own wounds and he barely has any gold for food or medicine, not to talk about taxes.

Annie joined the military and fought to rank top ten precisely to enter the Military Police. To become a knight, to secure a safe place deep into the city and to earn easy money. She is the knight, but the home she owns and the gold she receives are all for her father. She’s he’s only hope for survival. Not many have this luck.

Not that she cares.

And since she’s graduated and joined, she’s been making modifications at her home. Buying more necessary furniture and trashing the unneeded one in order to get more room in her house for another person. Not very often she gets jobs from her superiors, arrest this thief, investigate that murder, bring in these smugglers… small shit jobs her lazy companions could easily complete, but would rather throw them at the rookies in the branch.

So for a month now, she’s been struggling between holding her promise and playing the knight.

No matter.

Just a little more, and then her father will finally be able to rest in the interior, where it’s safe.

She reached for another arrow.

“Annie.”

Her hand stopped at the abrupt interruption, so does her line of thought.

Behind her, Bertholdt is shyly approaching, plate armor clicking with every step, the edge of his cape dragging along the floor. She looks up to meet his emerald orbs to find them clouded with unease.

“Hey.” She greets “Where’s Reiner?”

“Sleeping. Yesterday he drank more than his fill.” He smiled, eyes amused.

“Useless sack of shit.”

“D-don’t be so mean.” He laughed, looking down at his boots.

She shrugged.

Silence, an awkward one for the tall knight. The much shorter blonde pulls the arrow she was meaning to retrieve a while ago.

“Is there something you want?” she inquires as she steadies the arrow like she learned.

“Oh, huh…” he felt small under her straight-forwardness “Have you… have you heard the rumors, Annie?”

“What rumors.” she didn’t ask the question but rather demanded the answer.

“Hum, about the banquet?” she shot her arrow, his eyes widened as she hit her mark. Her accuracy was frightening and it would always be, no matter how many times he would see her shoot. Her full attention was now on him, hand on a hip, short bow secured on the other. Pale blue eyes shrinking him further with their typical coldness.

“A duke has been invited by the king to dine in his castle. Said duke is bound to bring guests and the king will surely accompany himself of his court… and, aside from dinner, there will be music and plays and-“

“I understand. No, I haven’t heard of a rumor like that.” She interrupted “So the Military Police will be in guard duty during that banquet?”

“Y-yes.”

Her eyelids lift slightly at the thought of some actual work, even if it is only guard duty, she could always eavesdrop on the humorous conversations of the filthy rich. She also suddenly remembers the visit to her father that she had previously planned.

“When will this party take place?”

“Hm…” he brings an ungloved hand to his hair, messing the dark locks “A week from now, I think.”

She almost sighs in relief, but her eyes do soften.

“A week, huh…? This duke must live pretty far away.”

“I guess.”

“That, or he’s just a busy man.” She comments idly “Who is he?”

“I don’t know… forgive me…”

“You don’t know?” she gently quirks a thin, golden eyebrow.

“No one does…”

Annie blinks. How curious. There is a banquet in the King’s quarters, a guest of honor is coming to Sina and said guest’s identity is unknown. But these matters weren’t for her to think about, she just needed to be there and perform her duty.

“I see. Thank you for letting me know.”

She looks back at her target, at least twenty arrows surrounding the center. She looked up at Bert, making him nervous by her sudden glance, and then looks back at the target.

“I’m tired of shooting. Let’s go wake Reiner.”

And although stoicism dripped from her voice, Bert laughed and happily tagged along.

 

* * *

 

Afternoon was settling itself. Final summer sun rays were weak, contrasting to the blazing heat that ruled prior months.

Lively was Sina at this time of day. Without its people, the stronghold was only heavy slabs of stone piled together, a massive wall, thick towers, a diverse collection of buildings and an impressive castle. A dull, grey behemoth. But the people that inhabited its walls brought the city to life, an unexpected and extravagant orchestra bearing a plethora of out-of-tune instruments. And the orchestra played its songs until dusk. Right now, as aforementioned, the songs were loud as could be.

The noise was easily found in taverns and inns, some were noisier than others, depending on which part of the city the establishment was located. Obviously, on the poor parts of town, the racket was deafening.

But it was also where you could eat and drink without wasting too much coin, even filling your belly for free if you picked your words correctly.

Sunlight glowed through the windows, reflecting on the metal of the mugs, plates and cutlery. The smell of cooked food and open barrels of beer filled the tavern. A bard and his companions were singing jollily, strumming the strings of their guitars and whistling their flutes with passion and rhythm. People were singing, a few were dancing. Hysteric laughs and various voice tones clashed through the catastrophic atmosphere.

Places like this were also perfect locations to acquire information, due to excessive doses of alcohol, people’s tongues were often looser than they should.

Confident in that knowledge, Ymir sat dangerously close to a slightly inebriated man. She was almost as tall him, but the brunette has always been taller than average. Her lean body was concealed beneath a loose shirt and pants, clothes she had stole from a house that morning. She seemed to be the impersonation of a fox, mischievous and smug; her short brown hair arranged in a careless fashion, along with the freckles that speckled her cheeks and bridge of her slim nose, pointy, implying her natural curiosity. Her thin lips were curled in a smirk as she engaged in conversation with the man, her golden eyes casting a sly look at him.

After dressing, she had broken one of the windows of the house, using a bundled up shirt to muffle the sound of cracking glass as she smashed a rock against it. Afterwards, she infiltrated the house and tip toed towards the storage room, careful for the two people inside the house, oblivious to the intruder. She had spent most of her morning trespassing, eating and drinking like a beast until point of satisfaction and sneaking around in search for a considerable amount of gold. Having money was always a good idea.

After her needs had been tended, she left in search of answers. She decided to stop by this considerably full tavern, starting conversation with an already tipsy soldier, at least ten years older than herself. A few clever words, some witty humor and a fair dose of impure gazes later, she had succeeded in joining the man for lunch.

Patient smart talk was all she used throughout lunch, attempting at establishing bases of proximity as well as trust between the two. Then she proceeded into persuading the man into drinking more, so he would easily spill the information she needed.

Next to her empty plate, stood two empty mugs, her hand holding the third. Next to his, stood a numerous collection of drying beer mugs, foam wetting his side of the table.

“I had no idea this place was so lively… Trost doesn’t compare to this.” She initiated after a brief fit of laughter at the other man’s drunken ramble.

“What…? Are there differences from place to place…? They all have food and drink and music… they’re all the same for me!” he grins “Pretty ladies are always a plus, too!”

She smirks and tilts her head “The way you put it, it doesn’t look like you get to see a lot of pretty ladies, here…”

“Are you kidding?!” he shouted in exasperation “Sina has the best girls, being the richest, biggest city and all… there’s so much variety… “

_‘What the fuck, Sina?! How the hell did I get all the way up here?!’_

“I know I’m talking about women as if I were picking fish in a market, which probably isn’t very smart, considering there’s a woman right next to me,” he giggled as he trampled syllables “But I’m not like that, I promise! I love women, women are great… they’re so beautiful, they have… boobs. Which are great too.”

“So, in your opinion, women are great because of tits?”

“NO!” his eyes almost popped from their sockets “No, no! Women are great because they are beautiful! You’re beautiful!”

“Charming…”

“Don’t be mad, please…! I told you were beautiful, tell me you forgive me!” he whimpered, then buried his head on his arm, resting atop the table. She had to heighten her hearing in order to decipher his muffled words “I think that everyone’s beautiful. Even ugly people are beautiful; my wife’s a monster and I love her. I really, _really_ hope my daughter doesn’t resemble her, though. Don’t wish that future upon nobody.”

She chuckled. But his slurred words weren’t what were on her mind right now, the fact that she was so far away in the continent perturbed her… how did she end up here? Trost was still a month away from Sina, if on horseback. How did she manage it in just one night? And why would she do that?

Or… had it really been one night?

She muted the man’s ranting for a few minutes, in order to concentrate herself.

What should she do, now? She didn’t have a horse or the money to afford one, or a carriage to travel back to Trost. But then again… she was just dragging herself through life, why should she return? Why not try to settle here, in Sina, and figure out what happened to her?

Well, there was the fact that Sina was an expensive, disgusting city to live in, a place where the social differences were so apparent, one can actually feel said discrimination being shoved down their throats. And then Sina was the epicenter of the Savage War… she was now as close as could be to the conflicts she had heard about in rumors through her travels… and being close to wars isn’t exactly safe.

“Hey… don’t chew your nail… if you’re hungry, maybe I could buy you something?” the soldier proposed beside her.

“Well, if you want to spend coin so much, pay my dinner.”

“Okay, I will!” he blurted happily.

She rolled her eyes, _‘Dumbass.’_

“Say,” she said “How do you suppose one could start living here in Sina? Is there some beggar conference, or easy money…”

“Oh, you’re staying?!”

“I will, if you lend me a hand…”

“Okay, okay!” he brings a hand to his chin, mouth comically twisting in concentration “Well, the easiest way would be to enlist, but then you wouldn’t be ‘living in Sina’, would you? So, aside from that, you could try and join the church… but I don’t think they’re very fond of women…”

“You’re not helping, douche.”

“Wait, Let me think!”

She rolled her eyes again.

“Why don’t you try searching for work in the market place? I bet every trader would want a helping hand… and would be willing to pay for it!”

“I’m not a really convincing merchant.” She confessed casually “Fake smiles hurt my cheeks.”

He giggles, then stops to think of more options.

“OH!”

At his outburst, her attention falls on him again, more from surprise than enthusiasm “What?”

“I thought it up! The perfect option for you! But… you would be away from me…”

“I would come visit to you, do not worry.”

“Promise…? You’re not lying are you? Because I really like you and I think we would look good together…”

He mustn’t have noticed the sarcasm. Drunken adulterous words aside, she kept her façade, predicting that the next option he would offer would be just as good as the previous ones.

“I promise, now tell me.”

“YES! She said yes!” he shouted gleefully and she stared apprehensively “Okay, okay… so there’s this family that lives not far from here, maybe a couple of hours on horseback to get there. They are filthy rich, rumor has it they are as rich as the king….” He whispered “But aside from that, they are also very generous, giving off most of their riches to charity, or to the church or the army. They are also known to accept the poor and homeless into their castle, giving them a nice life as servants to the family.”

She cringed at his last words, though. Ymir really didn’t like the idea of licking nobles’ boots for the rest of her life, but then again… it was the best offer so far. She could have an easy life, food, drink, a bed… and, if she were slick enough, she might be able to loot enough to buy herself a comfortable life, after a few years.

“That doesn’t sound so bad, actually… aside from the part of cleaning their big fucking house, obviously. How do I get there from here?”

“Just follow the main road, there should be signs along the way.” He smiled broadly at her.

“What signs am I looking for?”

“ _Reiss Manor._ ”

 

* * *

 

Another day of grueling training had dragged on for Sir Keith Shadis’ trainees. Groaning in pain and filthy with dirt and sweat, they had been dismissed by the end of the day, as usual, and proceeded to bathe, dress clean clothes and dine before retiring to their respective dormitories and rest.

But, before sleeping, they always had at least two hours for themselves, which they spent in casual conversation in the mess hall, dorms or somewhere in the surroundings of Shadis’ castle. Sometimes, they would venture outside said castle to enjoy their leisure hours on some establishment along the road, although this was more common in the troublesome Eren Jaeger.

In one of the long tables of the mess hall, sat the aforementioned arrogant brunette along with Armin and Mikasa. Accompanying them are Jean Kirchstein, Marco Bodt, Connie Springer, Sasha Braus, Mina Carolina and Thomas Wagner.

The hall was dim and dark, safe for the weak flames melting the candles atop the long tables. The ones on the chandeliers have been extinguished after dinner had been served and after the room had been cleaned. Shadows were dancing along their clothes, voice volume was low amidst the trainees scattered through the room.

“To put it simply, it’s all about how much you trust each other.” Jean spoke louder than necessary, flamboyant smirk displayed on his face “It’s a link between horse and man, the more you trust each other, the farther the horse is willing to go for you. Being careful not to whip around the reins too much or scream angrily at him helps building up the trust. Bottom line, be nice to the horse and he’ll be nice to you.”

But, much to Jean’s dismay, the object of his desires didn’t pay him much mind. Her eyes were transfixed on the blonde boy in front of her, as he spoke merrily about some topic Jean didn’t understand. Her eyes would often drift to her left, at Eren Jaeger. How he managed so much of Mikasa’s attention and not cherish it made Jean’s blood boil.

“Wow, Jean!” the dark haired, freckled boy in front of him, Marco, said “It’s incredible how you’re so natural at riding. Do you know any more good tricks?”

“Yeah, Jean, do tell.” A bald, hazel eyed, short and scrawny boy smugly spoke “I think Mikasa already knew that one.”

“Shut up, Connie.”

A fit of chuckles resonated through the hall, provoked by Connie’s joke, enhanced by Jean’s ridiculous blush coating his cheeks and ears. Hard to pinpoint if the blush had surged due to embarrassment or rage.

“What are you guys laughing at?” Armin friendlily inquired, resting both forearms on the table and leaning to look over their way.

“Oh, nothing special… just Jean things.” Connie spoke, head supported on his hand. Next to him, the lean boy grew angry by the second.

“What are you snarling for, are you a dog?”

“Maybe he is!” a joyful voice spoke, belonging to a light-brown eyed brunette “Maybe that’s why he’s trying harder than usual - mating season!”

“Fuck off, Connie, Sasha!” Jean barked, fueling their amusement even further.

Eren snickered at the mockery directed at the boy, Armin smiled apologetically, but Mikasa remained serene.

“Ah, shit!” Connie faked a gasp “Jean, if you start humping my leg, I’ll beat you with a stick.”

At that, Jean lifted his fist and smashed his knuckles against Connie’s bald head.

“Jean, they’re just joking.” Marco, next to the annoyed boy, said and apologetically smiled.

“They call me horse, and now, dog. I’m a farm.” He grunted, but on his eyes shone light-heartedness “And you watch and laugh, you freckled shit.” He pushed him playfully.

It took a few seconds until the jokes dried out and Jean’s annoyance had dissipated. Mina, a girl with black hair split into pig tails, took this opportunity to send a question at the trio.

“You guys… after training, you guys are joining the Scouting Legion, right?”

“Yeah.” Eren answered determinately.

“We decided we would all go.” Armin commented, smiling gently.

“But… why? If so, you will be sent straight into the war with the Savages… I know it’s noble of you, but aren’t you afraid?”

“You shouldn’t be afraid of doing what’s right.” Eren said “The Savages are just that – savages. They call themselves free men, claiming that they are free to do whatever; not living under anyone’s rule, worshipping the gods they want, say what they truly mean without risking their necks… but those are just cheap reasons to justify their crimes.”

“Bullshit. They are all killers and should all die.” He cursed.

By the venom coating his words, Mina, Thomas, Marco, Sasha and Connie all deduced that the Savages had taken something dear away from Eren’s grasp, but didn’t ask, having a strong guess at what that would be.

Jean breathed a chuckle, impassive to Eren’s hateful speech. Marco looked at him warningly, but the ashy-haired boy shrugged him off, arrogant smirk on his lips, antagonizing look on his eyes, matching Eren’s own gaze.

“You’re the one who’s bullshitting here. You talk big, like you can actually kill them. Do you even know what killing implies? Or how much guts that alone takes?” he smirks defiantly “I don’t think you do. I don’t think you understand war either. Or life, at that matter.”

At that, Eren’s jade eyes only darkened. Mikasa, placed a soothing hand on his arm, but he only tensed further.

“You know what I think, Jaeger?” he lowers his voice and darkens his furrow, and Eren does the same “I think you’ll join the Scouts, ‘cause you’re a stubborn fucker like that. And then you’ll meet the Savages, and you’ll run at them, all screams and swinging swords and shit…” he waves his hands around, eyes still boring into the brunette’s.

Mikasa feels flesh like steel beneath her fingers, beneath Eren’s shirt. And she hears him inhale stuttered breaths and exhale hot, dense rage.

“… but when you’re in the ground… amidst corpses and blood and horse shit… and you taste your blood in your teeth and palm that gaping, bleeding hole in your uniform… you know what you’ll think? I’ll tell you.” He inches closer “You’ll think _‘ah, shit. Looks like people die when they’re reckless idiots. Jean was right!’_.”

Eren stood abruptly, toppling his stool over and reaching across the table to hungrily grab the front of Jean’s shirt.

“Shut up you cowardly cunt!” he spat “Stop talking shit like you know me!”

Jean grabbed his arm and climbed on the table to reach Eren’s side, but didn’t strike yet.

“Oh, did I touch a nerve?”

“Eren!”

The boy felt a hand on his shoulder and got distracted for an instance. Mikasa’s voice was strong, vehement, but with a slight dose of pleading, and that significantly shifted Eren’s mood. His fingers relaxed and so did his shoulders. Armin, behind them, sighed in relief.

Connie and Marco had also rushed to hold Jean, each holding one of the boy’s arms.

“C’mon guys, stop this. We don’t want to get Shadis’ attention, do we…?” Connie said.

The tall boy roughly set his arms free, scowling deeply.

“Shadis is in his quarters, all the way up in the castle.” Jean murmured, turning to leave “How the hell would we get his attention.”

“Jean… Hey, Jean…!” Marco darted off after his friend “Hey, wait!”

Eren frowned and groaned in annoyance. Connie, as well as great part of the rest of the group sighed tensely as silence settled in the mess hall.

“You two shouldn’t get so worked up because of different opinions.” Thomas commented, gentle eyes set on Eren “If he wants the safety of the Military Police, let him.”

“I can’t help it if his cowardice bugs me.”

“But you need to control yourself, Eren! It’s been like this ever since you joined!” Armin advised.

Eren was silent for a few seconds.

“He started it.”

“Oh, c’mon! Now - that’s - childish!”

He lowered his head, hunched his shoulders and slipped his hands into his pockets, but they all noted his lips twitching, hiding amusement. By the obvious clearance of the bad mood in the air, they decided to seat down again.

“Anyway… you two never answered my question.” Mina commented “Are you two going to join the Scouts too?”

“Yes.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“I’ll join whatever Eren joins.” Mikasa answered simply, and the boy beside her softly sighed.

“I… I want to see what’s behind these walls.”

At the unexpected answer, their eyes glinted with curiosity as they gasped grunts.

“What do you mean, ‘see what’s behind the walls’? Didn’t you ever travel?” Sasha asked.

“Well… no, I didn’t.” Armin answered, making Sasha frown apologetically “I was born in Sina, in the worker region, on the outskirts of the walls. I lived there with my grand-father… my parents were rarely home. Precisely because they were always travelling.” his cerulean eyes slowly lit up in fascination “When they would return home, they would bring the most amazing of things; contraptions my eyes had never seen, foods I’d never tasted, clothes of the strangest designs…”

“Armin, you’re rambling.” Eren warned, his eyes compassionate, though.

“Sorry.” He laughed embarrassingly “Well, point is, my father would keep a journal… where he would detail his trip, day by day. He said he saw the most amazing of things, things one would see only in visions, or dreams, or read about in books…” he fidgeted nervously with his hands “The unknown really allures me, you know, I want to see these things by myself, to see what my parents saw.”

Eren and Mikasa stared knowingly at the boy, while the others just watched and listened.

“But… if all you want is travel… why not buy a horse, pack your stuff and head off?” Thomas proposed.

Armin smiled, turning to the blonde oblique to him “Why not help humanity while completing my dream?”

“Oh… well, good point.”

The blue eyed blonde drifted his gaze to the table before looking back at the other group “What about you guys? Where do you want to go and which branch will you join?”

“Well… I guess I never knew. I’ve been forced into the military, you know, so I guess I’d try to go with the flow and join the Garrison.” Thomas answered.

“I have always aimed for the Military Police.” Connie answered “I want to make my parents proud.”

Mikasa felt a spike of pain in her heart as she briefly remembered her mother.

“Me too.” Mina said.

“I have no idea.” Sasha rested her head against the table “I guess I’ll know once I get there…?”

“Military Police…?” Eren commented dryly “Well, at least your reasons are more honest than Jean’s.”

“Connie and Mina, you don’t seem very confident in your choices.” Armin said.

“I am…” Connie defended “It’s true that I don’t like that the Military Police doesn’t care a rat’s ass for the people… but my parents will be proud of me… and that’s what I care for.”

“I’m not very sure I’ll join the Police… I don’t’ think my scores are high enough.”

Armin seemed unsure at what to say as he saw his comrades struggling with their future choices. Eren wanted to persuade them into joining the Scouts, but knew it wasn’t his position to do such a thing.

“I think that Sasha has the best reasoning.” Mikasa commented, for the first time that night. The red-brown haired girl’s eyes shot wide in bewilderment “A choice like this is something you shouldn’t force out, it will come eventually depending on what you believe in.”

And they silently accepted the advice.

 

* * *

 

 

The void of night had fallen. The wind whistled through the leaves, clothes and loose hair. Dark tones colored the terrain and buildings, light sources being warm, flickering flames from torches, hanging on the walls or being carried by soldiers in their patrols, or oil lamps hanging at the entrances of buildings, or swiftly escaping from the glass of windows.

The sky was astonishing. Dark, tinted blue, but achieving a lighter tone from the light of shimmering stars or from the full, silver moon.

Bright was the moon, visible to all at the center of the sky, like the eye of an omnipotent being, watching over the mortals.

Close to the main road, a tavern stood. Two soldiers, Garrison uniform, talked outside. Beers in hand, chainmail armor bathed in pale moonlight. They were relaxed, laughing.

Unaware to the beast watching over them with black, menacing eyes.

It growled lowly, drool spilling from its dry and wrinkled lips. Pointy ears were flat against its skull, large nose squirming frenetically.

Atop a tree, behind the cover of foliage and darkness, the beast stood. The branches whined as it gripped them in its paws.

A fit of laughter was enough for the beast to make its decision.

It jumped, forming a parabola on the air, and landing ungracefully at the top of the tavern. Dirt danced upon her landing, tiles broke or cracked, smashed under the beast’s weight. The euphoria inside the tavern stopped immediately, the two soldiers beneath jumped on their feet at the sound. The squeals and screams hurt its acute hearing, the dead silence that followed tickled its eardrums.

“What the hell was that?!”

The sharp sound of metal sliding against scabbards was what it heard next, followed by stomping of leather boots, clicking of chainmail and ruffling of clothes.

But, before the soldiers could find it atop the roof, it jumped into the night again, landing on the ground, eying the thick bushes and tall trees it could use as cover.

“HOLY SHIT! WHAT IS THAT?!”

“All of you, get inside! Any soldier in there, come here right now!”

But alas, it had not been careful enough.

Its muscular, furry neck turned so its black eyes could see its persecutors, to find them dead on their feet, swords trembling on their hands. Their eyes were wide and their mouths were open and their feet dug into the ground. They didn’t want to fight this.

It could swear it could smell urine drying against their pants.

It ran into the darkness of the road, away from the tavern.

Once close to a tree, it jumped, using its powerful limbs to climb the branches. Superior agility allowed the beast to hop from tree to tree.

It howled.


	4. Depredation

Their boots softly padded the earth, furs and leathers rustling as they moved silently through the night. They moved on instinct, blind in the dark, surrounded by the familiar trees.

The leader came to an abrupt halt, signaling with an open hand for the group to stop. Up front, built in a clear in the forest, was their prey’s nest. The leader could see two watchtowers, a large tent, a wooden structure with various horses in it and other smaller tents with bedrolls inside. There was a spiked barricade surrounding the camp.

They had chopped wood, the leader noted, to make a fire. A kettle was cooking something above the flames. The air smelled of military stew and burning wood. The horses would occasionally neigh or puff air through their nostrils. Soldiers were hugging their cloaks, huddled around the fire, idly chatting as mugs and water-skins got warmer in their gloved hands.

Such ignorant prey… thinking of such a beautiful night as cold.

To the leader, the silver moon warmed him like a mother’s embrace.

He looked back at his kin.

“You five, take this side. The rest come with me.”

They conceded to the orders with nods. Steel silently caressed scabbards or arrows were pulled from their quivers and tested against old bow string.

He walked away.

He brought his hands to his hips and drew his daggers, the grip comforting his large hands. His pupils dilated like a predator’s, his feet stepping over dirt and grass without a sound. His veins bulged and throbbed with adrenaline, and he could hear his heart pulsing in his ears, feel the sweat coating his neck and back.

He reached his destination.

The watchtower, and its four occupants, was visible, as were the three soldiers patrolling on the ground, behind the barricade, warmed by the light of a burning pyre, close to them.

He shifted the knives in his hands, so the tips are facing the ground, and kneeled. Looking back, he saw two of his comrades readying their bows horizontally, strings clicking with pressure as the arrows were pulled back. One of his comrades released the bindings of his battle-axe, beefy hands roughly gripping the heavy weapon. The remaining warrior hadn’t equipped himself yet, but the leader knew no reason to worry.

He nodded at the group.

The strings bobbed as they were released, arrows cutting through air and faint smoke before hitting their targets. Red exploded from the throat of one of the soldiers, painting the side of one of his comrades. Stupefied and alarmed, he yelped as the body fell and paralyzed as he watched the other soldier touch the arrow with shaky fingers, and splutter blood and gasp final breaths. He grunted and fell on his back when the arrow hit his chest. The two remaining archers barely had time to register that two of their comrades had died.

Another round of arrows had already been readied.

The leader dashed, along with his comrades, towards his own targets, skipping as he ran, teeth clenched with excitement, forcing himself not to grin.

He heard another pair of arrows being shot and piercing cloth and chainmail, and he heard gasps and swears and echoes through wooden ground as bodies heavily fell.

By the time he had reached the entrance of the camp, the enemy had already drawn its swords and readied its shields, entering a battle stance. They barked orders and warnings, their eyes bearing a defying look, their bodies tense and warm with the heat of battle.

The leader’s ears ringed consistently. He did not hear a single word the soldiers had uttered.

He could only hear that constant, disturbing ring. And see the soldiers, and feel the bindings of his gauntlets, and the handle of his knives. He could smell the sweat, the smoke, the stew, the comforting smell of bear and wolf pelts and leather of his armor. And soon he would taste blood on his tongue.

He ran, carefully jumping over the barricade and, three steps later, he was at arm’s length from a soldier.

A sword was aimed at his shoulder. The warrior hopped in the opposite direction, then stabbed the soldier in joint of his arm, chainmail proving little to no resistance to the quick strike. As the strike staggered the soldier, the warrior shifted the blade’s grip in his other hand and gashed at his neck, drawing a thin, red line. The soldier’s eyes rolled in their sockets, life spilling from the wound and spotting his armor.

He could see another soldier growing cold in the ground with three throwing knives stuck into his chest. The warrior with the axe had rampaged against the remaining soldier, destroying part of the barricade in his path and hacking at the man. The round, metal shield of the soldier had been heavily dented while blocking the berserker’s attacks, as had been his rib cage, now a mess of abused flesh and broken bone, scarlet coating cloth and grass.

Chaos settled. Boots frenetically hammered the ground, bodies clashed against bodies as panic clouded their minds. But the prey was numerous, so many managed to front the hunters.

He could hear battle cries on the other side of the camp, too, where the rest of his group was engaging more soldiers.

An unexplainable exhilaration grew inside the leader. Ecstasy for battle. So he discarded his knives, brought his hands to his back and unsheathed a sword and an axe, blades shimmering in the fire and star light, hands clutching to them with hunger. Then, like his accompanying kin, he roared like an animal and hurled himself at his enemies.

Dry impact, followed by a guttural grunt. He looked to his left, to find a long arrow digging into the shoulder of the warrior with the axe, shot by a calm blonde woman standing near the large tent he had seen before, though his companion kept on running. She readied another arrow and fired. The berserker froze at the sharp pain in his chest- golden seconds for the archer. The third arrow burst his cheek. The burly warrior fell without much manifestation.

But the leader didn’t stop.

He ran, fueled by rage and bloodlust, swinging against the opposing soldiers, his steel clashing against steel, flashes lighting the night as swords brutally barged against each other. Red rivulets and droplets sprayed from flesh, painting men, ground and blades.

A blonde man, impressively broad and tall, roared his own battle cry as he engaged the knife-throwing warrior, now armed with a long dagger and a sword. The soldier swung his great-sword at him, but the warrior, slick and agile, danced away from his strikes, the enormous blade slicing thick air.

The warrior attempted an oblique slash, aiming a shoulder with his sword. The soldier parried, his strong physique repelling the warrior. He then shifted his weight on his legs, raised his arms, screamed and swung. The warrior quickly hopped out of reach before half of his body had been guillotined.

The attack had been a dud. Taking advantage of the opening his enemy had provided, the blonde lunged, blade ripping tender flesh and shaking muscles before protruding out of the warrior’s back. With the force of the blow, the soldier had lifted the dying man, holding him painfully as he screamed and spat, eyes hazy and tinted red, fingers tearing as they feebly attempted at removing the cold monster of a sword.

He held him for a few seconds before letting the body fall from the great-sword.

He returned to a fighting stance, heart pumping adrenaline.

His sharp eyes fixed coldly on the skilled warrior as he sliced the neck of one of his fellow comrades.

The warrior discarded the corpse of his previous prey, eying the murderer of one of his kin.

Looking around, he found himself surrounded of at least twenty more prey. Close to him, remained only two more companions. One of them had an arrow on his arm, the other was exhausted, barely standing.

“Put those down, scum.” The large blonde demanded. Looking in the distance, the leader could see the other archer-blonde still safe, close to the tent, an arrow ready to be shot. Close to her, a dozen other archers mimicked her.

“Surrender now, while you still have the chance.” He continued.

The leader relaxed his muscles. He cleaned impurities from his face and caught his breath. Beside him, his companions remained tense. Looking back at the serious soldiers, he laughed.

It was a continuous and raspy sound, bitter and mocking. That overthrew the soldiers. Some grunted, others uttered profanities, a few managed to suppress their true intentions, the rest were just too engrossed in the fight to think of anything else.

“What makes you think…” he spoke, venom in his words “…that you are in any position to say that?”

He smelled the hesitance on the large blonde.

He took a step forward, grip on his weapons tightening once more, conscious of the wary looks from the soldiers.

“Why do you think… that you have the upper hand?” he continued “In this fight, or any other?”

The blonde’s eyes showed a mix of hesitance and anger.

“You never had a chance. You’re fighting to die.” He took another step “You should join us. You’ve got nothing to win on that side.”

“… what?!”

“Join the Free People,” the warrior spoke neutrally “survive. End with the unjust monarchy. Live your life and not the life society planned out for you.”

His dark eyes scanned the appalled faces of the remaining soldiers as they faltered by his speech. The blonde’s stance loosened. The warrior took another step closer.

“Be free.”

The woman huffed before releasing her arrow, aiming for the throat. The leader incredulously fell on his side, the metallic taste filling his mouth, choking on the warm and dense liquid, gurgling as he felt himself grow numb.

Watching their leader twitch on the ground made the remaining warriors ponder their charge, fighting spirit still hyperactive, but the desire to survive burned just as brightly.

The burly blonde stepped forward, face serene, eyes cautious.

“Well what’s it going to be? Will you accept my offer or will you follow your leader?”

The warriors did not respond.

“Well…?”

_Thum… thum. Thum… thum._

The buzz on his brain, as well as the ringing on his ears stopped abruptly, as shock invaded his senses, taking over the battle heat he had once been feeling. He sniffed consecutively, brows furrowed, dark blonde locks sticking to the sweat coating his forehead and temples.

He gasped, turning on his feet faster than he thought he could, looking in all directions.

_Thum… thum. Thum… thum._

The earth rumbled. Trees fell lifelessly, wood cracked, roots were ripped apart from their earthy confinements. Booming sounds echoed before reaching the shocked occupants of the camp.

_Thum… thum. Thum… thum._

The warriors laughed and danced on their feet.

**_Thum… thum. Thum… thum._ **

“The hell is that…?”

“Like fuck I know.”

“W-we should retreat…”

“Orders… sir?”

“Stay put. Are you soldiers or mice?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“But, Squad Leader…!”

**_THUM… THUM. THUM… THUM._ **

An eerie silence fell upon the group of soldiers. They listened as hard as they could, but heard only their hammering hearts. They dared not breathe. Their eyes would quickly shift angles.

The blonde squad leader felt as if a banshee was floating behind him, breathing on his nape.

**_THUM… THUM. THUM…_ **

Three seconds passed and the fourth loud, earth shaking sound did not come.

A blink, a drop of sweat sliding down the bridge of the blonde’s nose, a deep but hesitant inhale.

Five seconds.

Close to the tent, the archers’ fingers grew numb as they restrained their arrows. The woman’s thin lips were brushing against the bow string. Her bow-arm slightly trembled.

Seven seconds.

The warriors were laughing uncontrollably by now, giggling and snorting in place. Their weapons were low, they were unguarded and uncaring in front of a group of trained soldiers.

If only they didn’t seem so dumbfounded.

Ten seconds.

**_“GRAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!”_ **

The scream provoked fear and dread in the tightened hearts of the soldiers, causing the fragile organs to pump erratically in their chests.

They stormed out of the trees, destroying branches and trunks, ruining foliage, crushing the barricades, not even flinching as the spikes dug into their fat, three-fingered feet and small legs.

They were two.

Bodies were massacred as their heavy clubs flew at them mercilessly. Screams died abruptly as bones were crushed, sacks of flesh flayed through the air before landing painfully, dirt and rock were dented by the angry swings of the large clubs.

The warriors only laughed louder as they heard the panicked screams of the soldiers as they faced both trolls.

Then, from the breach the trolls had created, roaring warriors swarmed the camp. So many of them, equaling the numbers of the soldiers. They trampled over each other, weapons dancing in the air as they ran, as they roared and yelled, no different from the fat, ugly monsters, only wanting to slaughter and destroy.

The blonde soldier had never felt so much in a disadvantage before in his life.

“RETREAT! GET YOUR HORSES! RETREAT TO THE CLOSEST CAMP!” he stepped back, controlling himself not to run as he watched the two trolls step close to him. He quickly glanced back.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! MOVE, MOVE!”

His sharp blue eyes returned to the warriors and trolls, swallowing all the fear, shock and confusion, gripping his great-sword tighter, clenching his teeth, watching them as they approached.

An arrow connected with one of the beasts’ neck, it spat and roared, small eyes constricting.

“Don’t just stand there!”

He heard the blonde archer order. His attention diverted from the beasts back to his comrade for brief seconds, only to find her running full speed in his direction.

“MIKE, LOOK OUT!”

He looked back in front of him, heart squeezing at the sight of the beast towering over him, the arrow on his neck not bothering it much. Its breath stinks, the greenish liquid that is sliding down its neck smells even worse, like aging corpses. It growls lowly before unleashing a bellowing scream as it lowers the club towards him.

Mike’s soldier instincts function just in time as he runs towards the beast, feeling the rush of air as the club crushes the ground where he once had stood. To the closeness, his nose wrinkles further at its filthy stench.

The soldier instincts take full effect.

He shrieks as he slashes one of the legs, just below its knee, making the monster fall and support itself on its free limb and healthy leg. Its yellow teeth are sickeningly close to Mike, it spits and screams as it bleeds from its leg.

A second rush of hesitation strikes the burly blonde as he watched this monster in front of him. And he wastes precious seconds pondering reality, instead of rushing into a horse, reuniting with his troops and retreat. And it’s those brief seconds that allowed the beast to raise its free hand, open palm facing him.

“MIKE!” The blonde woman screeches, as she runs. She shoulders the man with all of her weight, catching him off guard in his fear induced daze. He huffs as the air gets knocked out of his lungs, upon landing on his back. They share glances for half a second, eyes wide and terrified as he pronounced the initial letters of her name.

She doesn’t see the rest.

The impact was brutal. A crushing, otherworldly force against her mortal body. She doesn’t feel her right arm, her chest is burning intensely from lack of oxygen, she doesn’t know the condition of her head. She feels herself flying for a couple of meters, limply flipping in the air. It’s her left foot that first comes into contact with the ground. Her ankle explodes and burns, and the pain spreads and stings, and she wishes her leg gone as she feels liquid fire flowing in her veins, scorching her muscles, melting her bones. She feels the same fire on her shoulder next, down her arm.

But she doesn’t shrill or wail. And she can’t feel if she’s crying or not, or can’t feel her leggings drenching, her blood warm against her skin. Her mind is blank, her ears are ringing. She’s starting to see light spots in front of her eyes.

Before passing out, she feels herself being roughly lifted and positioned atop a frenetic horse.

He ushers her name many, many times. And she can’t muster the strength to tell him not to worry.

 

* * *

 

_…That morning…_

Levi beckoned for his horse to run faster. It was exhausted, grunting and struggling to breathe properly. But Levi didn’t care, he was in a hurry. Petra Ral followed close behind him, feeling sadistic for making her horse run for this long at this constant speed.

Levi mentally sighed in relief when Hanji’s camp was in view. A fortified camp, deep in the wilds. Sunlight bathed the camp, the forest was silent despite the commotion inside the military settlement, songs from birds were heard and so was the gentle flowing of a river, close by.

Levi would have enjoyed the peace of the forest, if he weren’t in such a stressful position.

He rushed inside the camp, lowering his speed as he trotted towards the stables. He hopped off, handing the reins to a nearby soldier, ordering without words for him to tether his horse, stopping him mid-greeting. Petra apologized, offering a shy smile, for the Lieutenant’s behavior as well as her own, as she did the same and walked off hurriedly after him.

“LEVI!” Hanji called, spotting him when he had entered her camp “There you are! What took you so damn-“

“Where are Mike and Nanaba?” Levi interrupted her, voice cold and vicious.

“Well, someone is in a bad mood.”

“Hanji.” He warned.

“Alright, alright! They’re with the wounded, at the end of the camp. Try not to take long there, I really need your help – our defense is a fucking mess!”

He answered with a huff, then walked off. Petra stuttered a greeting to her superior, then, slightly jogged to keep up the pace with the storming prodigy. Petra worried; he bore the same stoic and stern facial expression as ever, but preoccupation glimmered on his often cold eyes, and as he walked, she could sense how stiff he were due to uneasiness. Fragility like this was very rare on the Lieutenant… and Petra couldn’t guess where it had stemmed from, if from the well-being of his friends, or from the ambush.

After a few rows of empty tents and bypassing soldiers, the large tent of the wounded was in sight. They entered.

Pained groans and moans filled the tent. Soldiers lay in messy sheets, some with amputated limbs, some with bloodied bandages and some fighting diseases, collateral damage from the battle wounds. Doctors attended the soldiers’ needs, faces impassive and focused, overalls painted with brown dry blood, sleeves rolled up to their elbows. A male physician ordered around the doctors while, at the same time, tending to patients of his own. The air was heavy and dense, retching of flavorless soups, medicinal ointments and vomit, blood and sweat.

Still, in the presence of such shocking sights, both soldiers showed themselves respectful towards these brave survivors.

“Can I help you?” a busy woman asked the pair, cleaning her hands with a towel, tossing it aside afterwards into a pile of dirty clothes, sheets and bandages.

“We’re looking for Mike Zacharius and Nanaba.”

“Last bed, to the left.” She turned, pointing in the direction “Squad Leader Nanaba is unconscious, though.”

“Thank you.” Levi stormed past her, shrugging off her polite response.

Petra jogged again to reach the Lieutenant. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, not sparing a glance at the morbidly wounded soldiers. Petra lifted her soldier veil, acting as if she weren’t disturbed by dying men and rotten flesh.

A minute of walking marked their arrival.

Mike was sitting next to the bed, back a curved line, elbows resting on his knees, hands still and dangling almost lifelessly. His head was lowered, hair dirty, sand on his undercut, bangs curtaining his face.

Then they looked at the blonde on the bed.

Petra felt an excruciatingly heavy weight inside of her. Levi’s bored expression withered away instantly, jaws clenched tight.

Nanaba’s right arm was secured by two wooden planks, tethered with various layers of bandages. The blanket on her bed wasn’t covering her left leg. A similar splint to the one she had on her arm was present along her thigh. The rest of her leg was covered in bandages, dirtied red. Something seemed to be protruding out of her lower leg, the bandages forming a salient ball at the middle of her calf.

Levi swallowed.

_‘That’s her bone.’_

Her foot lay in an unnatural, sharp angle. To breathe seemed to hurt Nanaba, her forehead glistened from a thin blanket of sweat. A fever; the heavy wound on her leg was infecting.

Levi was no doctor, but he had a hunch of what would be for the best in this situation.

“S-Sir Mike Zacharius…” Petra’s voice was a pained whisper “Milord, forgive me… Lieutenant Levi is here for you.”

Mike slowly raised his head, eying the pair with sunken eyes, his usually light blue seeming dark, almost grey.

“Hey, Levi. Petra.”

An unsettling silence filled the trio. Levi was dumbfounded, at loss of words, feeling stupid if he were to offer something as cheap as a worthless apology. Mike was too shattered to speak. Petra felt uncomfortable in the presence of the two veterans, plus the heavily wounded one on the bed, three friends from long, she couldn’t help but feel like an intruder.

She struggled to find an opportune time to speak, deeply afraid to, sincerely. But she couldn’t take it anymore, she needed to breathe, and all the dying and wailing and morbid smells and her hurting superior and these two men obviously needing to talk weren’t really helping.

“Milord… may I take my leave…?”

Levi seemed to have been pulled out of hypnosis, blinking at her words.

“Sure.” He didn’t look at her as he answered “Go help Hanji.”

She bowed to both soldiers, politely backing away before stepping quickly outside of the depressive atmosphere of the tent.

Another heavy silence settled. Levi could have sat down next to the broad man, but really didn’t want to. Mike returned to bowing his head. The shorter of the two slowly crossed his arms, as he felt himself recover from his initial shock, his stony gaze returned to his eyes.

“Mike.”

The blonde didn’t move an inch, his fingers intertwining with each other. Levi waited patiently for any sort of answer or a sign that he had heard him at all. It did not come.

“Mike.” He repeated, voice steady and low “Tell me what happened.”

Levi saw the way the soldier’s hands were gripping each other, how his back lowered another notch. He imagined the torrent of memories crossing his mind. He wondered if his hand should be in his shoulder right now, or if it was inhumane from his part to ask these questions so soon.

Nothing was ever clear to Levi in terms of showing emotion.

On the other hand, everything was as clear as water when it was war related. According to those terms, there was no time for these moments of weakness. While Mike succumbs to self-loathing and despair, there was a lot they could be doing for the good of the Realm and its people.

But, for the sake of comradery and compassion, he waited a few more seconds.

Which dragged on to a full minute.

“Mike.”

“I told you everything on the letter.”

Levi blinked at the prompt answer, at his evened voice. At how he seemed on the verge of breaking but remained strong.

“You told me you were ambushed. I want to know how many enemies and what tactics did they use.” He explained “I want to know how many casualties, how many wounded. I want to know the extent of Nanaba’s injury and when will she be able to return to battle, if she will ever be able to.”

Mike looked up at him, mouth agape towards his deadpan look and emotionless speech.

“Mike, don’t look at me like that. You’re a Scout, act like one. There are more pressing matters than your personal concerns. You know that.”

“I… I know. But, still… Levi, you can’t expect to survive what I just survived and… and act like it was nothing. Nanaba…” he lowered his head once more, voice a thin, fragile whisper “…she could’ve-“

“Stop it.”

Mike’s eyes opened wide when he felt Levi’s hand grip his slumping shoulder. It was rough, strong, not tender or caring. But it was the closest thing to affection Mike had ever gotten from the Lieutenant in a while.

“Don’t go there. When you accepted being a soldier, you accepted a life of loss. Things like this are bound to happen. Don’t let them get the better of you. I need you as a soldier,” he ordered vehemently, tightening his grip “Not as a depressed girl with over-grown biceps.”

Mike exhaled a laugh, relaxing in his seat. He looked up towards the tired and sick look of the wounded blonde, remembering how she had gotten there in the first place. He remembered the monsters, the countless warriors, the slaughter… the fear.

Because of fear they had lost. Because of his fear, Nanaba had been seriously injured.

The war had only just begun. More of last night, or worse, will come. He couldn’t cower in a chair, if he’s able to fight for those who can’t.

“Fine. I’ll keep it together.”

“Good.” Levi said, unimpressed “Now, tell me what happened.”

 

* * *

 

Ymir woke up, exalted, chest heaving, hair sticking to her neck.

She sat, ignoring the fact that she didn’t remember she had lied down on a bed last night at all. She buried her face on her trembling hands, groaning and moaning.

“What… the fuck…”

She had never been the kind to have nightmares, especially as bizarre and supernatural as the one she just had, at least the blurry fragments she remembered.

But dwelling on dreams was useless, she thought. Still, she gave herself a minute before sighing, placing her hands on her thighs and checking her surroundings. She chuckled heartily as she closed her eyes, preferring not to panic in her current health crisis, if she could call it that. She had the same three symptoms from the previous time.

She didn’t know where she was.

She was naked.

She didn’t remember last night.

But this time she had awoken on a bed; a well-proportioned, mid-quality bed, with clean, white sheets and a warm blanket.

Looking around, there were various beds like her own and next to the beds, a small, bed-side table with two drawers and an oil lamp. She looked to her sides to check her table. There was a small loaf of bread and a mug of what she thought was ale. Only after gazing dreamily at the food did she realize how hungry and thirsty she was.

Just like last time.

And, just like last time, she pushed her doubts behind her in favor of silencing her stomach’s needs.

The brunette roughly grabbed the mug, drinking with fervor, a liquid trail sliding down the corner of her mouth. She finished drinking, wiped her mouth then proceeded to wolf down the bread loaf.

Less than a minute she spent on eating, burping casually once she had finished.

“Okay… now… I should find out where the hell am I.”

She slid off her bed, leaving the furnace that seemed to be her sheets. Her eyes noticed some piece of clothing neatly folded at the end of her bed. She irked an eyebrow, reaching for the article. Her first impression was that it was soft to the touch, unlike most of the rags she had dressed so far in her life. Grabbing it with one hand, she let the garments unfold in front of her eyes.

She furrowed.

“A dress.” Ymir deadpanned “No way am I wearing this.”

She threw it on her bed and proceeded to look into her drawers. Empty. She checked the one next to her bed, to find personal objects of the occupant. She checked another one, to have the same results.

She crossed the room, opened the door and popped her head outside. An empty corridor; floor covered by an expensive rug, walls painted a common color, other doors along it. Unlit torches hung on the wall. Light was cast towards a stairway, at the end of the corridor.

Ymir pondered if she should check the other rooms in search of clothes.

“Bah. I’ll just wear the damn thing until I find something more comfortable.” She stomped back towards her bed, placing the dress in front of her eyes once more.

She cringed.

“Okay, c’mon. I have to cover my ass with something. Wouldn’t want people drooling over my pretty freckles so soon.”

The dress was simple and didn’t expose much of her body, except for the chest area, where it hugged her features in a comfortable embrace. It covered her legs entirely and, by taking a few trial steps, Ymir liked the fact that the garment didn’t get in the way of her walking. The sleeves ended at her elbows, probably to facilitate handiwork. The attire was complete with an apron and brown shoes.

“Okay… Let’s go…”

The brunette exited the room, but out of curiosity checked one of the many doors on the hallway. They were bedded rooms, like her own. She suddenly remembered the chat she had had with the drunk yesterday.

_“…so there’s this family that lives not far from here, maybe a couple of hours on horseback to get there. They are filthy rich, rumor has it they are as rich as the king… They are also known to accept the poor and homeless into their castle, giving them a nice life as servants to the family…”_

Now she was far too confused.

“This… must be the Reiss Manor he was talking about…. to which I conceded to visit. These have to be rooms of the servants and maids…”

She swallowed, then gripped her head, growling “… so the question remains… how the hell did I get here?!”

She closed the door, a hand still pressed against her face. She gritted her teeth as she seethed.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with me…?! _”_

“Are… you alright…?”

Ymir looked up, eyes wide, heart beating fast. An older woman was slowly walking down the stairs, eying her cautiously. As she walked closer to her, Ymir noticed her grayed hair and the webbing of wrinkles decorating her face. Her hands were calloused, bones salient.

“Can you hear me?” she spoke again. Her voice was raspy, yet strong.

“Yeah… I can.” Ymir spoke, straightening her back, eyes adopting her usual bored look, hands relaxed at her sides as she gazed down at the old woman.

“Good. We were worried.”

“We?”

“Myself and Lady Historia. We found you collapsed on the gardens, this morning. Your skin was feverish and you were moaning and breathing harshly in your sleep, as if you were in pain. Lady Historia demanded that you were taken inside.”

Ymir parted her lips as the information sunk in. She was more puzzled by the second, and it made her itch in places she couldn’t scratch.

“Since you are feeling better, for starters, I’d like to know what were you doing naked in the middle of the gardens.”

“H-huh… well, I…” she coughed “I sincerely don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Did you drink?”

“Perhaps…?”

She snorted “Not a very good first impression for the Reiss family. Lady Historia was shocked to no end.”

To that, Ymir couldn’t help but chuckle throatily.

“Was she, now?” she broadened her smirk “Lucky me. One night and I already have an admirer. I really am a hot mess.”

The woman’s eyes adopted a cold demeanor at Ymir’s flirtatious words. The younger one didn’t waver, though. Instead, she kept on rambling.

“Didn’t know nobles were so kinky… getting all hot and bothered by a naked girl… is that even allowed here…? For her to like other girls, I mean…? This… Lady History?”

“It’s Lady _Historia_.” She corrected “And watch your mouth.”

“Oh-oh. But I intended to let it loose…”

And she would have kept on uttering sultry words, if her cheek weren’t stinging so much, red finger marks and a scarlet blotch marring her face.

“Ow…?”

The woman got closer, eyes piercing Ymir’s relaxed ones, words like knives “If you disrespect Lady Historia, or any of the Reiss family members, again, you won’t get out with just a slap. Was I clear?”

Ymir brought a hand to massage her jaw “What are the threats for? I don’t even work here. I can say whatever the hell I want.”

The woman backed off, laughed bitterly then judged Ymir with her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I had deduced you wanted to be hired… since you were sleeping in the gardens… sick… and with no clothes to speak of. Gave me the impression you were with difficulties surviving the taxes and diseases and wars… apparently you have it all under control.”

Ymir’s eyes were now aggressive and she felt like kicking the old hag for mocking her. She hated to be wrong.

The woman turned on her heels.

“Come,” she ordered “Lady Beatrix has assigned you as Lady Historia’s personal maid.” She then lowered her voice to a murmur “Milady has never made a more unfortunate choice.”

As the woman climbed up the stairs, Ymir followed. Not because she had lost the argument, but because she was in need of answers, and since her first objective, to reach the Reiss Manor, had apparently been achieved, she should now proceed to her second one, to know what is wrong with her. Meanwhile, she should also learn about this family she was serving. She had already caused a good impression on ‘Lady Historia’, whoever she was, now the rest.

Reaching the upper level of the building she was in, she could find other rooms, like a dining room and a kitchen. They walked in silence until they left the building, the light of day blinding Ymir’s eyes as they walked through the gardens Ymir has heard so much about lately. She wasn’t particularly impressed by the bright green leaves or the dying summer colors from the flowers, or the various fountains.

“Who’s ‘Lady Beatrix’?” she finally asked.

“You’ve never heard of the Reisses?” she inquired, surprised.

“That’s why I asked.”

“… you’re not from here, are you?”

“Are you going to answer my questions, or are you just going to stall me?”

“We’re going to have to work on your manners… urgently… if you are going to stay.” She noted. Then sighed, as if thinking where to start “Duke Frendel Reiss is one of the richest men on the Realm, owner of a lot of companies producing what you see on the market. He’s a duke, he is rich, he is close friends to the king, he highly influences the kingdom.”

They reached the manor itself. Its stone walls were battered by the ages, moss grew along them, close to the many windows. Large double doors formed the entrance, opened by the old woman as she pushed one of the doors. Ymir did not help moving the heavy door.

They entered the great hall. Occupied with high quality furniture, walls decorated with expensive paintings or impressive armor sets or sculptures. Unlit torches hung on the walls, chandeliers painful to light pended from the ceiling. An enormous hearth occupied most of one of the walls. The whole room was clean, smelling pleasantly.

The woman kept walking fast, pass the hall and into another hallway. Ymir didn’t have much time to memorize the route or which rooms she passed by. Before she knew it, she was walking up another row of stairs, although these were a lot more decorated and spacious than the others.

“He’s married to Lady Beatrix,” the maid continued “who you’ll find often around the manor, especially on the gardens. You’ll find other family members around the manor as well. Bow to them always.”

“Yeah, got it.” She dismissed the tutoring with a roll of her eyes “Why did this Beatrix pick me as the girl’s maid, by the way? Doesn’t she have one already?”

“No, she doesn’t. She had a number of maids aiding her with her every day routine, but not a personal maid, that she never had.” She answered “As for your first question, I don’t know. Lady Beatrix just looked at you, while you were unconscious, and said nothing. This morning, milady came to me and said you would be Lady Historia’s personal maid from now on, offering no explanations. Rather odd.”

“Odd indeed. I don’t even know her and she’s already assigning me with tasks like these. What, does she have a thing for me too?”

The woman decided it would be better to just ignore Ymir’s disrespectful personality for now.

“You ought to meet her soon… what’s your name?”

“Ymir.”

She fell silent for a few seconds.

“Definitely foreigner.” She commented “No last name?”

“I never met my parents. Grew up on the streets.” She answered nonchalantly “You?”

“Isolde.” She said “My last name doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, a bastard.” She smirked “Like me, probably. Lovely name, by the way.”

“Do you want another slap?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine with just one.”

A minute of silence followed. They walked through a richly decorated hallway, quiet, with soft chatter heard in some rooms. The freckled girl deduced these were the family chambers. They passed by a bored guard and climbed up a claustrophobic snail stairway, stopping in front of a partially closed door. It was very quiet. Seconds of silence made Ymir hear the gentle, almost inaudible, tune coming from inside the room.

“Lady Historia’s room.” She announced, pointing with her head at the door “She’s Lord Frendel and Lady Beatrix’s only daughter. She’s the heiress to the family’s fortune and mercantile empire, respect her for that.”

Ymir hummed tiredly.

The woman knocked twice, opening the door as soon as she was allowed to. Ymir peeped past the shoulder of the maid, curious to look at her sinful, guardian angel.

A small girl sat on the bed, needle and linen in hands, sewing what seemed to be some piece of clothing. Her puffy cheeks had a rosy tint on them as she gazed quizzically at them both with the bluest and biggest eyes Ymir had ever seen. Her nose was small and chubby, her lips were full and pink, parted, forming an ‘o’. Golden locks framed her round face, a fringe irritatingly hung in front of her nose. She seemed serene and benevolent in her seemingly expensive dress.

 _‘So… tiny… she’s small everywhere… except for the eyes.’_ Ymir analyzed _‘I bet both her hands fill one of mine. I bet she only reaches me by the shoulder.’_

“Lady Historia,” the maid bowed “This is Ymir, your new personal maid.”

The small girl interlocked eyes with the brunette, standing from the bed, letting go of the sewing tools.

“Hello, Ymir.” Her voice was very feminine, very noble. Ymir thought she found an ounce of hesitance, too, strangely. And yes, indeed, the girl reached Ymir’s shoulder level.

“Hi.”

Seconds passed and the brunette felt holes being bored into her skin. She turned to the old woman and eyed her strangely once she saw Isolde fuming considerably.

“ _Hi?!_ ” she incredulously repeated.

“Huh… should I have said ‘hello’ instead…?”

There was the cold, scary look again.

“Bow. Down _._ ”

Ymir stuttered, looked at the curious blonde and her big, blue pools and wondered if she should humiliate herself so much as to bow down to such a child. At least she seemed to be one, but maybe she was older than she appeared.

This was against everything she ever stood for. But feeling the maid mentally stabbing her made her curve her back and lower her head in what she thought was a respectful act.

She heard a soft giggle. And an angry intake of air from Isolde.

“That was the worst bow I have ever seen. You’re a disgrace.” She said “Forgive me, milady. Please, let me teach her the basics before she insults you any further.”

Ymir straightened her back, angry eyes fixed on her shoes.

_‘I must look like such an idiot. Stupid dress. Stupid hag. Stupid squirt. What the hell did I put myself into?!’_

“It’s alright, Isolde. Please, do not trouble yourself with us any longer, you’ve done enough.”

The maid bowed down respectfully, shot a glare at Ymir and excused herself, leaving the two young women alone.

The freckled brunette watched the older woman leave, craning her neck as she heard the door click. She wasn’t comfortable in the presence of the noble girl, didn’t know how to act or what to say or not without smearing her morals too much.

“Look, you do it like this,” Historia said kindly “you straighten your back, slightly bend your knees and lower your head – Just like this, see?”

Ymir watched in silence as she demonstrated.

“Okay, I’ve… memorized it.”

_‘Still feel like an idiot, though.’_

The blonde watched her expectantly. The brunette deduced she was waiting for her to bow, as if showing she had learned but she thought she had humiliated herself enough.

“So,” the taller one started “What am I supposed to do…?”

“Keep me company, basically.”

“…Only that?”

“No, you should do my bed, comb my hair, help me dress…” she tapped her small finger on her cheek thoughtfully “Stuff like that.”

Ymir raised an eyebrow.

“I’m going to help you dress…?”

“Hmm… yes…”

She tilted her head, now.

“… really?”

“Yes!” she raised her voice “Is something wrong with that?”

“Oh, no. Not at all.” She looked away, smirked then looked down at the heiress “Not with me at least.”

_‘Should I be making flirty jokes at this point…?’_

The blonde seemed to sense the undertones though, shrinking under the smug gaze of the taller girl. She turned her back to her, walking towards a window. Ymir watched her curiously, silently enjoying teasing the small girl, taking mental notes of what made the girl tick.

“Are you feeling alright?” Historia asked, changing the topic “You were suffering quite the fever…”

“I feel better.”

“Are you comfortable?”

“I’d prefer pants.”

“I… could try getting you a few pairs…”

“Please, do.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“I’ll ask if I have any.”

“I see. So… where do you come from? Why did you seek refuge here?”

Ymir narrowed her eyes “Talkative, aren’t we?”

She seemed taken aback.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I… I’m just trying to keep conversation… I… didn’t mean to pry.”

“Yes, you did.”

The blonde looked up at her in bewilderment. Ymir probably wasn’t being as respectful towards the Reisses as she should be. Isolde would kill her. She wasn’t here though, so Ymir was free to do her bidding.

“Ex-excuse me?”

“You did mean to pry, that’s why you asked.” Ymir answered nonchalantly.

“I’m sorry…”

“I’ve heard you the first time.”

Historia seemed saddened and ashamed of herself, avoiding Ymir’s judgmental gaze. The brunette was appalled at how easily she could switch the roles of vassal and noble, how submissive to her stony answers Historia seemed to be. Like she didn’t want to get Ymir to hate her, to leave her side. So, in order to repel loneliness, she would be willing to allow her maid to treat her as an equal?

This was a question Ymir would have to answer in time. But, if her deduction was right, then this girl would be a world of fun for the opportunistic woman.

“So… Historia, right?” she nodded silently “Why don’t I ask the questions instead, from now on?”

 

* * *

 

_…The next day…_

Silence ruled Levi’s tent, disturbed only by the night wind or the restless soldiers going about their lives. His uniform was still on, although he had left his gloves aside to better use his fingers. His sword was still strapped to his belt, Levi was now extremely reluctant to let go of his trusty blade, essentially due to the escalation of the war.

He was carefully analyzing the war-map, the weak lights from the oil-lamp casting shadows on the wrinkled paper.

The Realm, as it was known, was vast; stretching far towards the ocean-bathed lands of Maria, the port-city, occupying the grassy plains dotted with towns, big and small, but none comparing to Castle Rose, built in the center of the country.

And then, to the extreme South, built on a spacious area, close to resources, stood Sina, the massive capital.

Close to Sina, on the outskirts of the worker region outside of the walls, grew a forest that occupied most of the country. The forest, its caves and vales, were home to the Savages. Due to this, they were basically uncharted territory now; people would steer clear of the wilderness, much preferring the safety of the patrolled road while travelling. Or just stay inside their houses, behind the safety of walls.

Aside from being their home, it was also the battlefield of the Savage war.

Deep into the forest, there were few remaining Soldier camps. Hanji’s, the one where he was currently at, was one of the few remaining ones. They were losing territory and men were dying at a quick rate, not only because of the war. They didn’t know how to survive in a wild environment, like the enemy did; food was limited, water was a disease inducer and illnesses were easily caught and hardly fought.

“Milord?”

Levi lifted his head to gaze at Petra at the entrance of the tent.

“May I come in?”

“Sure.” He answered curtly.

She managed a short smile and entered the warmth of the tent, bathed in the dim light. She was fully uniformed, cloak too. On her small hands, she carried a wooden plate with bread and cheese. As she approached, Levi noted her disheveled hair and her tired eyes, dark circles adorning her eyelids.

Made him reconsider his choice of leaving the rest of his squad in Sina and bring only Petra with him as his assistant. But he had been in a hurry to leave once he had received the horrific news from Mike, no time to collect his whole squad.

“I brought you something to eat, Milord.” She placed the plate atop the table, avoiding the map “I also managed some water… if you’d like some. Don’t worry, the physician says it’s drinkable.”

He placed his hands atop the surface of the table, looking at the girl as she retrieved a water-skin from beneath her cloak, handing it to him, kind smile on her face. Gently, he grabbed the water container, thanking her with his eyes.

“I noticed you skipped supper, milord.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

Her eyes softened “Please, eat. Do not deprive yourself of food.”

He sighed.

“I can take care of myself.” He took a bite from the bread, noticing the brightening on his assistant’s face “What are you, my mom?”

She chuckled at his dry humor. She took a few steps closer to join him by the map. Affected by her presence, Levi watched her from the corner of his eyes, capturing the details of her focused expression: the pattern of lines that formed on her forehead as she frowned, the shadows that her eyelashes casted upon her big, light-brown eyes.

“Milord…” she said “How fares the war…? In what conditions are we- wait, I… I shouldn’t ask these things. Forgive me.”

She bowed, short hair hiding her face.

“Why shouldn’t you know? You are fighting in the war, you should know the details.”

She slightly lifted her head, eyes avoiding him.

“A soldier shouldn’t ask questions to a superior in rank… not without permission at least.”

“Petra…” he sighed loudly “… do you really think I care about differences in rank? Especially with you? You’ve been with me since the start. Don’t be so formal. Why you still call me ‘Milord’ and ‘Sir’ is beyond me.”

She relaxed, but tensed up in embarrassment at his accusations.

“I’m sorry… I got used to it.”

He huffed, dismissing her apologies “Keep the titles to the field and reunions.”

He took another bite from the sandwich.

She hummed and nodded. Looking down at her, he felt some unknown satisfaction in seeing that she had returned to her normal self. He decided to address the topic she had brought up.

“We’re losing, basically.” He started. He pointed with his index finger towards the deeper regions of the forest “We’re slowly losing our fortified positions in the depths of the forest. Our western flank, belonging to Mike and Nanaba, is exposed due to the loss there. Fifty soldiers; ten Scouts, the rest, Garrison. Seventeen survivors, Squad Leaders included.” He drank “You’ve seen how they are. Few were seriously wounded, aside from Nanaba. But their morale is broken after they’ve seen what they’re fighting against; quickly spreading rumors across the camp… trying to flee…”

“Encouraging speeches?”

“I’ve lost count. Mike is losing patience. And Hanji, that I’ve seen, as punched two of her men and kicked one in the balls, saying she was ‘verifying if he really had them’ when I interrogated her about it.”

“Orthodox method for raising morale…”

“Efficient, really.”

There was another pause as he drank and Petra eyed the ground thoughtfully.

“How…” she murmured tentatively “… how are Squad Leaders Mike and Nanaba…?”

His response came significant seconds later, but he answered with a face blank of emotion, as usual. He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke.

“Mike is being true to his word. Keeping it together, leading his men through successful recon missions, not getting distracted during a fight… but his mind is buzzing. He doesn’t know what he’s fighting anymore, or what to believe in. Sometimes I see him day-dreaming. Many times I see him with drink in his hands.” He looks her in the eyes “He was very pissed to know that we have kept the trolls a secret. Almost started a rage fest in the middle of the tent.”

“How did that work out?”

“Encouraging speech.”

“Oh…”

“I kicked him.”

She opened her eyes wider.

“Not in the balls, though.” He reassured “In the shins; a reminder that he’s at war. He could be fighting talking goats, he still has a people to protect and that’s what he should focus on.”

He paused, knowing the second topic would be even more depressing to talk about. Perhaps even shocking to the emotional woman. But she was a soldier, she’s been through similar emotionally gripping situations.

Levi blinked, noticing that ‘he’ or ‘she was a soldier’ was starting to become his common excuse whenever he was going to deliver bad news.

“Nanaba is getting sicker by the day. She drifts in and out of consciousness, suffers from high fevers and her wound on her left leg is infecting dangerously.” He explains “Her right arm is healing steadily, the other cuts and bruises too, without taking much of a toll on her. The leg’s the problem… the physician as talked to me about the solution… Mike too, but he vehemently refuses it. Begging for time. Fool… he doesn’t realize Nanaba doesn’t have time.”

Petra felt an eerie feeling at the pit of her stomach.

“A-amputation…?”

His sharp eyes divert back to hers “It’s the only way. She’s only getting worse, that leg needs to go.”

She swallows dryly, nodding in understanding.

“Aside from that… there hasn’t been much change in the war. They got us pinned down by their crushing numbers, the men’s morale is weakened, we have no knowledge of the terrain… we’re sitting ducks. Our only advantage is our recon ability, to which we use to prepare ourselves for their next attack.”

“There’s no offensive from our part?”

“There was in the beginning, the camps in the outskirts of the forest were easily won and their attacks are most of the time easily repelled. But when they come at us, hundreds of them plus monsters… there’s not much we can do. That’s how we’re losing our fortified positions, they decided to let the secret out.”

She bit her lip thoughtfully, allowing a few seconds of silence between them.

“Mi-Levi,” she corrected “Why not retreat…?”

“We are retreating.”

She blinked in bewilderment.

“W-what?”

“I was going to get to that eventually, but you beat me to it.” Levi backed away from the table to walk towards a desk, messy with copious amounts of written, dirty parchment and black spots from ink. He grabbed one of them, after rummaging through the various letters, walking back towards her and handing it to Petra.

“Read it.”

She, still incredulous to the new information, had a difficult time performing the Lieutenant’s command and moving her frozen limbs to grab the piece of paper hanging from his fingers. She placed it at eye level and coughed twice before starting to read aloud.

“ _Levi, retreat request accepted. I’ve already sent a raven to High Constable Zacklay, you know that his word is final, let’s hope that Lord Darius is feeling compassionate. Reasons for retreat were crushing enemy numbers, low morale and rapid decrease of men in our lines. I’ve obviously omitted the trolls. Keep the current tactics and try to calm down the men as I wait for a response from the High Constable. Pixis wrote. 150 men are coming your way, divide accordingly throughout the camps. I’m sorry to hear of Nanaba, I hope the doctors are doing what they can. Don’t let that affect Mike.”_

She paused to assess the information.

“ _On another topic, tomorrow will be the presentation of the military branches to the new trainees, which I will be attending personally. I intend to bring them to the camp you are at, give them a glimpse of war, appeal to their honor and courage in order to persuade them into choosing the Scouts. Best regards, Erwin.”_

He looked at her as she found herself speechless.

“We’re… not… retreating.”

“I hope we are. It’s been eight months in this shit, that fat fuck must have some consideration for his men.”

“And… Erwin is bringing the kids here…? Won’t that… scare them away?”

“That’s what I think, too.”

“Then… what is the Commander thinking?”

“I don’t know, I never do.” He swallowed the rest of the bread. Took a few gulps of water. Sighed in satisfaction at the nourishment “Thank you for the food, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” She answered simply, still appalled by the message from Erwin.

Seeing her thoughtful once more, perturbed mind racing, with that same facial features from before, made something snap in the battle-worn man. Something told him that he should reassure her, that being troubled wasn’t something pleasant and, since he was here, he should do something. It was the same thing that had forced him into gripping Mike’s shoulder a day ago, when he had visited Nanaba.

Only this time he wasn’t sure if a manly gesture like that would be a good idea on Petra Ral. So he opted for words.

“Erwin can seem to be a big fucking idiot at times, I know.”

The curse word caught her attention, so he went on.

“But it’s at those times when he proves to be an equally big fucking genius.”


	5. Monsters, Liars and Fortuistousness

_“Annie. Take care of your father while I’m gone, all right?”_

_Gentle words spoken in a calm, soothing tone formed her request. A peaceful smile decorated her face. It was contagious, and Annie felt her own lips curling into a smooth curve._

_“Don’t worry, mother.”_

Annie felt her eyelids lazily opening, vision dimmed from the sudden awakening. She sighed heavily through her nose, remembering her dream.

_‘I’m a liar.’_

Annie huffed to herself, splattered lazily on her bed, in her home at the noble district. Her sleeping clothes were messy despite she didn’t really move much during her sleep. Her uniform, light, good quality armor, rested on a mannequin in one of the corners of her room, her white cape draped the armor set, the minimalistic unicorn, symbol of the Military Police, facing her.

 _‘Father doesn’t hear from me for I don’t know how long.’_ She ranted _‘He’s worrying. He’s always worrying. He can worry more than Bertholdt and Reiner.’_

She curled into a ball, forearms beneath the side of her head, acting as a pillow.

_‘I promised myself I would visit. I have so much free time… why didn’t I visit?’_

Because she’s lazy.

_‘How long has it been since I last wrote…? I… think the last letter I sent was shortly after I started training.’_

Which happened five years ago, her sadistic memory reminded her.

_‘I’m such a lazy ingrate. He doesn’t deserve my abandonment.’_

But she wasn’t abandoning him. She loved her father, his personality largely contrasted with her own which, more often than not, resulted in mutual bickering, but he was one of the few people in this world that really do care for her. That love her.

But she had always been lazy, never acting or making an effort for something that didn’t directly influence or benefit her. Military Police had made her slackness worse.

She signed again, feeling her heart clench, but ignoring the urge to lament her actions. She knew better than to dwell on her mistakes. Instead, she aimed to learn from them.

 _‘Tomorrow. No more stalling, no more waiting. He’s my father, he’s worrying… and I want to see him. Before that banquet... how long until that banquet…?’_ she frowned _‘Oh, fuck it. Reiner and Bertholdt will remind me eventually.’_

She craned her neck to look out the window. Utter darkness; she judged she still had a few hours of sleep before sunrise.

_‘Tomorrow, father. Just wait a little bit more … please.’_

 

* * *

 

“This one?”

“Yes, that one.”

Ymir pulled at the string, feeling the softness of the material in her fingertips, and how the dress loosened around the girl’s frame.

“Okay…” she sighed.

Historia could feel the brunette’s hands roughly rummaging through the foils at the back of her dress, searching for what to pull next. Her shoulders shook as she quietly laughed at the brunette’s lack of knowledge on how to remove a dress.

“If you keep on laughing, you’ll get this off on your own.” She suddenly growled.

Tried as she did, Historia couldn’t hide her giggles.

“I’m sorry, Ymir.”

“Liar.”

She looked at her, over her slim shoulder “I really am.”

“What, a liar?”

“No, silly, I meant I was sorry!”

Ymir pulled impatiently at the main cloth strips tightening the dress around her hips. Her exaggerated roar echoed through the walls of Historia’s chamber. And the blonde laughed again at her exasperation, stopping only when her facial muscles started to hurt.

The brunette ran her hand through her bangs, then snorted and pressured “You’re sorry you’re a liar?”

Historia face palmed and groaned into her hand.

“I give up.”

“I knew you would.”

She heard a sole note of laughter from the blonde’s throat.

Historia started sliding the dress down her shoulders.

Ymir watched silently and attentively; not because she had interest for seeing her light on clothes, more because she wanted to know how she’d react with a stranger in the same room as her as she stripped. Throughout the day the blonde had demonstrated shyness towards a lot of things Ymir had said and done; she wanted to know exactly how far did that shyness stretch.

“Thank you, Ymir.” Historia said, frankly and surely, as she folded her dress, a simpler, looser dress currently covering her skin. She turned to her and Ymir found, surprisingly, no blush on her face or anything resembling embarrassment.

_‘Would you be this natural if the second dress were gone, too?’_

Casting aside her thoughts, she hummed in response to the blonde’s gratitude, eyes travelling towards the girl’s window, in her chambers. She could see red and orange streaks of color painting the sky, its blue paling as the sun disappeared in the distance.

It was getting late.

The day had been tiring; Historia had given Ymir a tour of the gardens. All the walking and talking, along with her lack of sleep, started to take a toll on her body. She wanted nothing but to eat, undress and crawl into bed.

“Ymir…” Historia called, dragging the brunette out of her thoughts “I… I wanted to… to thank you.”

Ymir arched an annoyed eyebrow. She placed a hand on her hip and used the other to massage her tired eyes. She noticed the growing throbbing on her temples, but blamed the hunger.

“No need to thank me for doing my duty squirt, otherwise can you imagine the bother it will be?” she coughed, then spoke in a forced high-pitched tone while repetitively patting her eyelashes “ _Thank you for doing my bed, Ymir! Thank you for helping me with my dress, Ymir! Thank you for wiping my butt, Ymir! I’m still dirty, but fuck it! Thank you!”_

Historia gasped while laughing “I-I would never ask you to clean my butt…!”

“And god, am I glad for that...”

She giggled again. She turned a took a few steps, the brunette noticed her slumping shoulders and hesitant padding across the silent room.

She turned to her again and, fidgeting with her fingers, she asked “Ymir… do you… always use that kind of language?”

“Does it bother you?”

She seemed thoughtful at first, chewing on the inside of her cheek “… I’m just not used to it.”

“So it does bother you?”

“Not… really, no.” she answered hesitantly, avoiding her eyes. She then looked back at her and spoke quietly “But my family might not find it very polite.”

She smirked “You’re family probably never found real reasons to cuss.”

“Are there any?”

“So many. They’re great for insults and for alleviating pain.”

“You can insult without using cuss words, you know.”

“Meh… I don’t know. I don’t think _‘You piece of poop!’_ has the same impact.”

Historia chuckled and lowered her head as she muttered “That’s not a particularly clever insult.” the cleared her voice to speak steadily again while still avoiding her gaze “But back to topic, I… meant the company. Thank you for keeping me company, Ymir.”

“Keeping you company is part of my duty.” she reminded with a shrug.

“I know.” Historia conceded half-grumpily “Still… I feel like I should show my gratitude. I had a lot of fun.”

“Fun…?”

“Yes… even if you were mean at times. But in the end, it was fun.”

To the humbleness and sincerity of her words, Ymir blinked.

She had always been described with unpleasant, but accurate, adjectives and had been called many ingenuous names in the past because of her personality. Historia had definitely seen her true colors today, how she was protective over her own privacy, how she tended to be smug and sly. And despite that, she had sympathized with her.

She started chuckling, shaking her head once more.

She almost felt a pang of guilt for her opportunistic intentions.

“You think I’m fun…? Wow, you certainly are quick to offer up trust.” The petite blonde’s eyes shone with hurt and confusion as the brunette smirked and snorted smugly “Little piece of advice, you may want to ponder not to offer that up so blithely.” She grinned toothily, mischievous look in her devilish eyes. She lowered herself to her height, “Things like that often come back to bite at ya.”

She held her blinking, stunned cerulean pools for a while, then turned and walked away, offering one final chuckle before reaching for the door. She could hear the clicking in Historia’s breath, a hint of a soon to be expelled argument.

But Ymir was tired, hungry and with a growing headache. She really wasn’t in the mood to argue.

“What are-“

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She quickly interrupted, twisting the doorknob and exiting the room, muffling the girl’s complaints.

As she walked down the snail stairwell, she was half-expecting for the girl to barge open the door and blurt out stubborn, honorable ideals. She was genuinely surprised when minutes passed in total silence, only her breathing and her shoes stepping over the creaking, wooden steps. She figured her words must have dumbfounded Historia, poor, naïve and innocent little heiress probably never heard such advice in her life.

Nonetheless, Ymir was glad for the peace.

Her head throbbed and pulsed, and she thought it would burst.

But she endured the pain, masking herself with a neutral face as she walked through the manor, not paying any mind to the various servants as they lit the candles for the night or as they rushed through the corridors to tend to their masters’ wishes.

But something was wrong.

She could feel it as her steps became shaky, as the words exchanged by the Reiss’s in the main hall became only slurred whispers, as her breaths warmed the surface of her lips as she panted.

Something was _very_ wrong.

Beads of sweat sprouted on her temples. She was glad she hadn’t eaten in a while, a nausea had overtaken her stomach, too.

She stopped abruptly.

She brought a hand to her stomach, her digits digging into the cloth and marking the skin beneath. She couldn’t help her seething groaning and grunting.

On her mind, she started asking the obvious questions, the pain and discomfort not allowing her time to think. Even the ability to rationalize seemed to be slipping past her.

Ymir brought a hand to her head, feeling the bulging veins in her temples, the hairs sticking to her forehead, the burning in the back of her eyes.

She started running wildly, rushing past guards and servants, not minding what scene she was causing, what words they were whispering. Even though she could hear them, she didn’t think how it was possible, but she could.

The confusion, the worry, the annoyance and even the fear; she could hear it all.

Fresh air from the outside greeted her face. She kept on running.

She felt like her ribs were pushing against muscle, and she was afraid they would peep out of pores and skin.

Fear took over her as she started gasping. Everything scared her; these strange pains, the trees, the bushes, the flowers, the shadows as night settled. Even the eyes of observers, other human beings, something one would like to have close in situations such as these – when one was afraid.

But she couldn’t bear the sight of them.

Only the moon seemed friendly.

So she followed it, without thinking, without knowing why. She kept on running, feeling that silver circle in the sky calling to her.

Instinct moved her, not her rationality.

Her breathing was harsh, loud and labored. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears, neck, wrists, temples, her whole body seemed vibrating with her pulsing blood.

The pain inside her evolved.

She stopped at the top of a hill. Hyperventilating, condescending to fear, encroached in pain.

Beneath her trembling flesh, fibers of muscle multiplied, tissue grew, expanded and developed. Bone cracked, snapped and morphed. Her skin forcibly had to adjust to the growth.

Ymir didn’t notice the frigid air meet her nude form, didn’t look down to see the ripped pieces of her dress.

She could see, vision blurred by tears, her fingers extending, her nails sharpening, hair – no – _fur_ growing over her skin.

She screamed; and kept on screaming until her throat felt raw.

She didn’t notice her screaming turn into howling.

Little by little, she found the pain decreasing, her organs calming down and her mind clearing.

She could think again, it took her a few moments to realize it, but she could.

She ordered her neck to move, wanting to see what had happened to her body that hurt so much. She felt herself growl, instead of gasp, as she caught sight of the wild, dark brown fur, of the small canine, legs, of the sharp claws and big hands.

_‘It… it can’t be…’_

She looked up at the moon shining down on her.

_‘What… just what the hell am I?! How did this happen?! Is this what has been happening to me in the previous nights?! Did I run all the way from Trost to Sina as a-‘_

“C’mon, she ran off this way!”

“Hey! Hey, lady…! Please don’t be frightened; we’re… we’re here to help!”

Ymir didn’t even blink at the approaching soldiers. She should hide, she really should, she knew that. But she couldn’t bring herself to move.

_‘Better hearing…’_

“C’mon guys, pick up the pace, we might lose her!”

“Are you absolutely sure she ran this way?!”

_‘Better sense of smell…’_

“Yeah, yeah! I saw her; running like a madwoman… you know in what sort of trouble we’d be in if Lady Beatrix were to know that-“

_‘The full moon…’_

Three soldiers were in sight, seeming frozen, looking up at her. Ymir could count their heartbeats if she wanted to, she could smell their dinner in their petrified gasps. She felt her throat vibrate with growls.

They stammered the initial syllables.

_‘Say it.’_

They couldn’t. They didn’t believe in monsters.

_‘Say it. Because I sure can’t.’_

But maybe life had been a nightmare all along.

“W-w-were… werewolf…!”

 

* * *

 

Not failing her promise, determined to prove to herself that she wasn’t as despicable as she deemed herself as being, Annie woke up early, dressed casually, ate, grabbed a cloak and proceeded to leave. Two thoughts halted her steps. The safety of a knife, currently absent in her belt, and the care of leaving some sort of warning to Reiner and Bertholdt.

She never even confided to them of this wish, or need, of hers to visit her father. Well… she never really confided in them much of her inner thoughts at all… she never really gone out of her way in search of them either, it was always them coming to her.

These weren’t probably strong bases for a friendship. From her part, at least.

_‘Father would be disappointed… and sad.’_

Well, since today would be a day of change for her, she might as well make an effort for all of the people she considered close, since the list wasn’t particularly long.

_‘I’ll need to ask father for advice… no sappy shit though.’_

And she knew her old man was quite fond of honeyed words and heart-felt actions.

Either way, she was sure to return home to retrieve a small weapon and to promptly write a note, leaving it on Bertholdt’s home, because she feared the air-headed blonde might not notice a letter if it were on his doorstep.

With those matters settled, she could finally leave.

 

* * *

 

“Easy there…”

Annie halts her grey mare once she arrives, sliding off of the saddle and guiding the mare towards her father’s small stables. An old, sturdy ox kept company to her own horse.

Unconsciously, Annie walks up to the ox and pats it on the ribs. Her sight becomes unfocused as memories rush in on her.

_“Daddy, why does the fat horse have sticks growing on its head?”_

_The girl opens her curious, pale blue eyes wider at her father’s throaty laugh. His big, scarred hand comes to rest on her head, combing her loose golden hair as he tried to control his chuckling._

_Three of his fingers curl around her own. He tugs at them, pulling her towards the strange animal._

_“This is called an_ ‘ox’ _, Annie.” He explains, caressing the animal on the ribs. Then walks a few steps and points at the protrusions on its skull “Those, are_ ‘horns’ _. Oxen normally have horns.”_

_Annie rolls the syllables on her tongue, experimenting the new vocabulary, big eyes still amazed by the big and strong-looking beast._

_“Would you like to ride the ox for a while, Annie?” her father asks enthusiastically._

Annie has to blink to exit the daydream, and she mentally scolds herself for wavering so quickly under childhood nostalgia.

_‘Eyes on the present, Annie.’_

She sighs through her nose, turning around, leaving both animals alone.

Her boots pad silently along the arid road that marks the path towards her father’s home, not that she’s trying to surprise him by treading quietly, it’s just that she got too used to stealth. She glances around to analyze her surroundings. Not much has changed over the years; piles of golden hay, a slowly rusting drinking fountain and a wooden cart. Two wooden columns, thick layers of old cloth encircling them, secured in place by ropes.

Her eyes linger on the faded, stained fabric.

_She felt the sun rays scorching her pale skin, a thin layer of sweat shimmering under the light. Her muscles burned with exhaustion and her dry mouth tasted of sand, her windpipe raspy and her lungs aching._

_Eventually, her frail body failed her, making her pause to catch her breath._

_“What are you doing, Annie? No breaks!”_

_His booming voice perpetually whipped away her dreams of rest and water._

_She couldn’t stop. Not when_ he _was watching._

_He didn’t praise her when she kept on striking. Nor when a backwards kick ripped through the cloth, her ankle burying into the newborn hole in a puff of dust, ruining yet another training dummy._

She blinks again and tries not to dwell on her lack of emotional restraint, absentmindedly rubbing her knuckles over her gloves.

She doesn’t remember winning him. Not once. She remembers dirt and dust on her baggy, ripped clothes, purple and red discolorations on her otherwise pale shins, arms and ribs. She remembers raw knuckles and the taste of metal on her mouth.

And today she doesn’t mind counting the victories.

Annie found herself in front of the house. It is small, one floor, with dirty white walls, an aged wooden door, a stone chimney and a few dirty windows.

Anxiety had crept into her heart as she stared at the spots where paint had degraded from the door, hand tightening into a fist. She inhales deeply, taking the hood from her cloak off of her head.

She knocks, struggling not to fidget on her feet as she waits impatiently. Through the silence of the day she can easily make out the similar silence inside the house, no steps over floorboards or over their bear carpet, no voices through corridors and rooms.

She considers knocking a second time, but fights back her anxiety.

She counts ten excruciatingly long seconds.

She knocks again, louder, her fist bashing the door.

_‘I thought you were a morning person.’_

“Coming, coming!”

She blinks, shocked.

The voice answering her calls is nothing like her father’s. She can hear movement inside of the house, quick steps resounding through the structure, progressively getting louder as they approached the door.

It is carelessly swung open.

Annie blinks twice, holding her breath, mouth agape. Her body goes stiff as her wide eyes embrace the vision before her.

“Uh… good morning… can I help you?”

In front of her, bearing an arrogant demeanor, bed head from being abruptly awoken, annoyed look in her brown eyes, stood a young looking brunette, her curls disheveled and her night dress exposing too much of her chest.

Annie’s eyes explore the inside of the house: rotting wood planks covered the ground, walls needed cleaning, old furniture begged for retirement. Across a hallway, clothes littered the floor towards what she remembered being her father’s bedroom, a pair of sucked dry wine bottles on the floor.

Annie deduces this woman had come from there.

It shouldn’t have angered her so much. But it did. His father, as well as her deceased mother, used to sleep there, clothes and bottles close to their room isn’t exactly respectful in her book.

Perhaps he had sold the house after all those years.

_‘No. He would have told me.’_

Perhaps he died, that’s why the house is a mess and is occupied by this stranger.

_‘NO! He would have told me he needed help! He had done that before!’_

“Hey, are you deaf?” a reminder to Annie that she’s frozen, probably looking pretty stupid, in the doorway of a lousy-looking stranger.

Annie swallows and moistens her throat, then asks, voice not as dead as usual “Uh, is… Brom Leonhardt home?”

She raises an eyebrow “Who’re you?”

“Honey… who is it?”

Annie freezes. Now that voice she would never forget. She was grateful for the familiar voice, completely silencing her previous inner panic.

But now, she had to wonder why was her father sharing his house with a stranger?

Her anger starts boiling up, expulsion would be advisable, but she doesn’t want to throw a conundrum without purpose. She needed answers.

She feels a squeeze at her heart when she sees her father for the first time after five years. He had wobbled out of his room, almost slipping on the discarded clothes, dressed only in a robe. He was still enormous, eyes pale and emotional like she remembers, big hands, her teachers, seemingly the same. But she didn’t like the thickness of his blonde beard, or the meatiness of his shoulders, legs and arms. There was no proud chest or square jaw or strong arms, just the shadow of the man of five years ago.

When he finally sees her, his groggy eyes become instantly alert, mimicking her shocked expression. Although he seemed a whole lot more desperate.

Afraid, even.

“A-Annie?!” he gasps as he took hesitant steps towards her “W-w-what are you doing here?!”

The woman alters looks between Annie and her father, easily putting the pieces together.

“You didn’t tell me you had a daughter!” Annie hears the woman gasp apprehensively, but she doesn’t interiorize the words.

She’s not thinking or listening.

But she can feel.

She feels rage. Animalistic, bestial rage. It is the air she’s exhaling, it is the tenseness in her muscles: her back, her abdomen, her whole face. And betrayal; cold, cruel metal wires, tightening around her heart, a frigid emptiness inside, a sense of abandonment, a bitter taste in her tongue, the taste of replacement.

But worse is the self-hate. Not in the sense that she’s worthless and that she’d best be crying someplace secluded. No. Annie isn’t like that.

_“… I want you to treat the whole world as your enemy!”_

She’s been raised differently. Her father made sure of that.

_“Annie…Your father is the only one in this world that you can trust…!”_

All she had done, how far she was willing to go. For him. To this end?

“I… believe you two have some catching up to do.”

Annie bites back an exaggerated, unnerved snort. The woman walks off uneasily, and she remains at the doorstep, eyes glaring hard at her father as he cautiously approaches her.

“Annie, she… what you see here… I can explain.”

Her nails dig into her palms. She doesn’t say anything, offering him the benefit of doubt.

“You were training… and then you entered the police…and I was so alone, Annie… I didn’t know what to do…”

Annie looks down at the floor, feeling her eyebrows twitching with anger. She is once again engulfed with memories.

_“Why did this have to happen to her, Annie?! What did she do wrong?!”_

_The thirteen-year old girl finds herself at loss. Her eyes look emotionlessly at her father’s back, something told her that it wasn’t common for girls this age to see a grown man curled into a ball, gripping his knees, tear streams he doesn’t try to hide staining his cheeks, hiccupping and wailing miserably, his whole body shaking and trembling._

_She didn’t know either why her mother had died. But fact remained that she did. Wasn’t it normal? People live and die, don’t they? Isn’t that our unavoidable end, that little common thing?_

_“I guess… she just had to, daddy.”_

“Things got better with time… and you were writing back during training, you have no idea how much happiness your letters brought me.” He explained, voice trailing, panicking, “Hunting helped too, took my mind off of things.”

“… but then, a month later, you stopped writing… the war started getting worse, I didn’t know what to do with myself! I…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She interrupted coldly, not minding the numbness on her fists or the whiting in her knuckles.

She had reached her limit.

Annie could only withstand so much bullshit. Even from her father.

“I… I was going to…”

“Were you really?” she took a few steps closer “When? When were you going to tell me that you had found another woman? That I… have been... sustaining…?”

She saw him swallow dryly. She also saw the glimmering in his eyes, the red hues growing in the corners.

_‘Don’t cry. You don’t deserve to.’_

“Annie… I thought you were mad at me… or that something had happened… for you to not write for five years. If I could go to the castle, you know I would’ve…” he trailed off “… but peasants… aren’t-“

“What about a fucking letter?! Would that be too hard?!”

Annie shouted loud and clear, fueled by betrayal, moved by rage. Rarely did she raise her voice, never finding motives to.

_“Don’t let yourself be swayed by your emotions, Annie.” Her father instructed “They can slow you down.”_

But… this was like nothing she had ever felt before. Nothing she had ever expected to feel.

“Don’t you think I deserved to know?!”

So maybe she had good reasons to scream at her father.

“And I don’t get any say in this?! What about mother?! What about _‘I’ll never love another woman like I loved your mother_ ’?!”

“Your mother’s dead…!” he shouted desperately, just one note where his voice broke.

_‘Since when did you grow the balls to say those words?’_

And it was true. He had never said them, not once since it happened. Annie was the one who had to carry the weight of reminding her father of her mother’s demise. Because he was too consumed by self-loathing and depression, so responsibility was on her, the little girl, the daughter.

Not anymore apparently, not a single ounce of fragility could she detect as he said those words.

The straining in his voice definitely wasn’t about her mother.

It made her quake.

“Mother’s dead…?” she repeated, ceasing her screaming to whisper in a poisonous tone “Took you a while to believe that.”

He fell silent. He still hadn’t cried.

_‘Are you controlling your tears? Why? Because of shame? Or pride…?’_

She chuckled bitterly.

“This is unreal. After all the crying and mourning, you pull this shit. ‘ _Because you felt alone’_. Couldn’t you control yourself?! Mother died, you depressed, I left and then you decided that the best way to solve your problems was by finding some whore?!”

She watched him still silent, still with that indefinable expression veiling his face. She took a few breaths before she lowered her tone again.

“Do you even realize how full of shit you really are…?”

And then she felt it. On her face, burning across her cheek, making her head whip the air.

She damned her gasp. She ignored the pain.

But the mark of his heavy hand was still on her face.

She’s not looking at him. She doesn’t know that the woman had circled a corner to see if everything was alright. She doesn’t know that her father eagerly regretted his action.

He still loves her.

But right now, all she can feel is hatred. And if she were to look, she might kill him.

Annie doesn’t allow other people to mistreat her. She’s not anyone’s punching bag. So she’s giving her father a gold privilege when she starts backing away, retreating.

“Daddy…”

She stops. She thought she had misheard the words. A lot is on her mind right now, she could very well be hearing things.

“Daddy…”

No. That’s definitely not a hallucination.

She turns.

She sees a body, of small stature, chubby limbs buried beneath a shirt too big for its boyish body. Bright blonde hair a disarray atop its round face, pale blue orbs gleam with curiosity, tears rest on the corners of his eyes from the recent yawn.

“Daddy… who’s this lady…?” he asks very innocently, blinking and pointing at Annie.

 

* * *

 

Armin’s head seemed about to explode, the cool air of that September night proving useless to ease the raging headache.

And the reason for the convulsions on his brain was that unannounced military presentation that morning.

Erwin Smith himself had ventured all the way from his own castle to Shadis’, representing the Scouting Legion. He was accompanied by Lieutenant Ian Dietrich, representative of the Garrison in Commander Pixis’ place, since the old man couldn’t be present due to all the work of managing the largest military branch.

In name of the Military Police, Lieutenant Djel Sanes was present, an old man, with too wide eyes and sunken features. To Armin, the man didn’t seem to be as honest and noble as was required for a knight.

The witty blonde also noted the absence of Nile Dok, Commander of the Military Police, adding up to the arrogance the knight branch was displaying. Armin knew the man had enough time in his hands to attend to this appointment personally, like Commander Erwin did.

Except, unlike Nile, Erwin actually had a full schedule.

The presentation went fairly normal despite the surprise it had been. Armin and his peers gathered in the courtyard and listened with false attention to speeches whose contents had been drilled into their heads by their instructor countless times before.

_“You want to join the Scouting Legion?! Hah! How’d you expect to kill Savages, you skinny bunnies?! My mother can hit harder than you. And she’s dead!”_

_“Between washing the walls, dying in the war and guard duty… you won’t even have time to fart. Ain’t life in the Garrison grand?”_

_“No, even if they call you a knight, you’ll still be a sack of shit! You’ll probably be worse!”_

Of course, the representatives had been more polite. But, in essence, said the same.

Erwin spoke last, a request he had made to Ian and Djel, as well as Shadis.

The trainees were pale as ghosts when his wish to bring them to a camp had been revealed. Even Shadis was surprised at the blonde’s idea, finding it unintelligent of him to bring the undecided, to-be soldiers into a warzone filled with despairing men and women, an act that immediately scratched the Scouts from many of the trainees’ minds.

Armin wasn’t sure what to think.

The youngsters were in majority dumbfounded, they didn’t manage the will to argue as they were ordered into horses and guided outside of the castle, into the forest.

The only sound on the following hour was the rampant hooves against dirt.

The same happened on the way back.

Reality was a punch to the stomach. Commenting and witnessing the raw truth of war are two entirely different concepts; and no training had prepared them for that.

The group of trainees was a mix of emotions. There was fear and as newly forged courage, degraded spirits and as fiery determination, weak minds and brave souls.

But this was all a double edged sword; Erwin didn’t have the soldiers he wanted, all he had were confused twenty-year olds. But that was the whole point of this jeopardizing move. This was just the first step, the success or not of the plan will be proved in a few weeks, in enlisting day.

After this, the day slowly rolled on as the vacant trainees strived to occupy their minds with anything but that one heavy question.

_‘In what branch will I enlist in?’_

Eventually, day turned into night and Eren, Mikasa and Armin, as well as the rest of the group, decided to go to a tavern for a much desired drink. At least for most of them, Mikasa did not want to drink, preferring to enjoy the fact that Eren had personally invited her tonight, which she obviously found absolutely random coming from the rage-centered boy, but initiatives like these were of extreme rarity and who was she to push them aside due to her own insecurities?

If she could enjoy moments of peace where she could talk with him about anything aside from war or vengeance, then she would rather do just that.

Armin noticed Eren’s change too, and was happy for him though he didn’t voice it.

Actually, he had barely talked at all, too enraptured in his own thoughts. At that point, the headache had started to sprout from all of his brainstorming, combined with the racket inside the tavern as well as the loud conversation flowing at his own table.

Jean decided to get drunk. Armin deduced the images on the camp had affected him as well, perhaps a call to his sense of duty. At least, that was the justification Armin had managed for the boy’s angry rants and reckless expenses on ale and beer. Marco tried to calm him. Connie, Mina and Thomas discussed his drunken philosophies and their own military future. Sasha was silent, drinking and eating, seeming shaken as well. Eren, in front of Armin, shook with rage at every word carelessly slipping past Jean’s lips, Mikasa constantly tugged at his shirt and swiftly signaled with her eyes for the brunette to calm down.

Which, thankfully to Armin, he did.

And with all of this commotion, as well as the storm inside his head, he had excused himself, saying he desperately needed fresh air. He took the beer he had ordered with him.

Luckily, no one followed him.

He exasperatedly stumbled into the wooden railing, of the tavern’s porch, head sinking as he relaxed his shoulder blades and stretched his back muscles, forearms resting against the railing. After sighing heavily and remaining in that position for a few minutes, he raised his head to stare off into the night, relaxing his body into a less tense position.

Movement on the street caught Armin’s attention.

A horse, its grey pelt only visible once in close proximity of the tavern, a cloaked, hooded figure riding atop it. It seemed too short for a man, but too casually dressed for a woman. The figure slowed its beast upon arrival at the establishment, then, proceeded to stable it close to the other horses.

Now with its feet on the ground, Armin could see just how small it was.

 _‘It’s a woman.’_ he figured _‘Or an unfortunately small man.’_

She, to Armin’s deduction, hadn’t let her hood down as she paced towards the tavern. Curiosity taking the best of him, Armin tried to take a better look at this stranger. But the cloak was too long, the hood too loose around her head.

But Armin could see the pointy end of a nose.

He found it amusing.

The stranger entered, and just like that Armin was left alone with his confusion once more. The cloaked woman had provided for a good distraction, he wished her back, or something else to occupy his mind, he really didn’t want to face these problems right now.

Main reason why he had left his friends.

But his prayers hadn’t been heard, so images of war filled his mind.

His headache thickened. He took a sloppy gulp from the foamy drink.

 _‘Hah… look at you, Armin… drinking beer and thinking of war…’_ he smiled slightly _‘I bet those bullies would be proud. I bet they wouldn’t call me heretic anymore.’_

He remembers the bullies; the punches they threw, the insults they spat.

What they didn’t know was that heretic wasn’t exactly an insult, but rather a definition.

Too many hours dedicated to black ink and faded illustrations, but how much did he love those old pages. How much those books, loaned by his parents and grandfather, influenced his ideals and dreams.

_‘But those dreams… just seem ridiculous knowing what I’ll have to endure… I know it’s stupid of me to think this way… I was so eager to enlist, after all. But how was I supposed to know it was going to be like this? I knew it would be bad… I just didn’t know-‘_

His laments were rudely halted when the loud thumping sound of a body tumbling over the railing, right next to him, was heard.

Armin yelped, heart racing.

To his relief, it wasn’t Jean throwing up.

To his utmost surprise, it was the cloaked figure from before, desperately gripping at the wooden railing, back moving up and down as she breathed unevenly, seemingly through her teeth.

She didn’t seem to notice company at first, but then she eventually turned to see what had pronounced such urgent gasp.

Armin watched, still wide eyed, as she slowly turned her head, blonde tendrils of hair fell on her face, through the gaps in between strands of gold, Armin stared at the most piercing and terrifying irises he had ever set his eyes upon.

He might’ve considered them beautiful, since he had never seen such light blue pools, almost the tone of a cloudless sky bathed by the last sunrays of a summer day. But the only thing he could feel was pure unease and pressure under that angered, blood-chilling gaze, shadowed by the low furrow of her eyebrows and forehead muscles.

He feared the girl would kill him on the spot, even though he did absolutely nothing to her.

As he stared in bewilderment, the girl took three deep breaths and then proceeded to storm off.

And Armin didn’t know what possessed him to stop her.

“Y-you don’t need to leave…! I-it’s a public p-place…”

He was visibly tense, he could feel his heart still hammering in his chest and he could feel how weak he was sounding and how afraid he probably looked, but he still tried.

At his stuttering, she stopped, slowly turning around to look at him warily. He could only hold her judging gaze for two seconds before looking down, feeling small and self-conscious and absolutely ridiculous.

Breath stuck in his throat when he heard her slowly step back to his side, mimicking his position, an arm’s length away from him.

He offered her a sheepish smile of gratitude that she either ignored or didn’t notice.

Silence settled between them. One she obviously found comforting, one he found particularly unbearable.

“What?”

Her voice was raspy and deep, with that little feminine tone, and maybe that was what made it as gelid and terrifying as its owner.

She had noticed he had been staring. He was stupid not to hide.

“U-uh, n-nothing… sorry.”

She didn’t answer, preferring to keep on gazing off.

Another long silence followed. She was as stiff as a rock, acting as if she were completely alone, making Armin wonder why did she accept his company in the first place.

Armin was the exact contrary, holding his mug in his hands, often shifting his weight from one leg to the other, looking everywhere except anything at his left side.

But damn his curiosity.

The barrier around the girl was amazingly thick. And he was stupid to want to break it, he would probably never meet her again, but he was curious and intrigued like he had never been before.

So he wanted to know her.

 _‘Who are you? Why are you so angry? Where do you come from? And how can you manage to be scarier than_ Mikasa _…?!’_

“Are you going to drink that?” she asked suddenly, offering him her full attention.

“H-huh?” his response came slurred for his thoughts being so abruptly interrupted, again.

She just stared on.

 _‘She’s not the type to repeat herself.’_ He noted silently.

He made an effort to remember what she had said. It was hard thinking with eyes like that staring you down, but he eventually managed.

“No, you can have it.” He answered, offering a small laugh and the same shy smile as before.

This time, he was sure she had ignored it. Her hand reached over, grabbing the mug from him and bringing it to her mouth. Armin was amazed that she managed to drink it all in one go. He had only seen guys like Jean and Eren manage such feats, so to witness a girl drink with such greed was new to him.

She carelessly threw away the mug once finished, choking a belch. She didn’t thank him either.

A third silence settled between them. Armin’s unease was bigger this time because the girl’s rage was starting to rub off on him, he couldn’t help but feel like he should do something. Probably speaking would be a better course of action, the problem was what to say without being afraid of earning a black eye.

He opted for the obvious.

“For what’s worth… I’m sorry.”

Since he was speaking with her, he thought he had the right to look this time. He found her eyes on him again, luckily, not angry, but puzzled. She was still frowning, though.

“What?”

“I-I said I was sorry…”

“What for?”

“For whatever’s bothering you…” he explained and before her frown could darken at his supposed prying, he kept on talking “I don’t know you, neither do I know what happened. And I don’t deserve to know. But… I can’t help but feel like you don’t get easily shaken… so I’m sorry it happened.”

He avoided her gaze in fear of meeting another deadly stare. If he had looked, he would have seen her in puzzlement once more.

“What happened to me… it probably doesn’t compare.” he went along, adding a dry chuckle of self-pity.

He didn’t know if by now he was just feebly struggling to keep a conversation by diverting attention to him or not, but, judging this cautious character beside him, it probably wasn’t very wise to ask too many questions. And this way, if she doesn’t want to talk anymore, she’ll just ignore him.

But apparently he had misjudged her interest.

“What happened?” she said simply, voice dead, a bored shadow cast over her eyes.

Armin blinked repetitively. But, excited that he managed to pique her interest, he promptly answered, turning to look at her and offering a gentle smile.

“Military presentations were today and Commander Erwin decided to bring us to one of the camps, deep in the forest.” then he added quickly “Oh, I’m a trainee. Sorry I didn’t say that in the first place.” he laughed nervously.

She slowly blinked.

“Is that why you’re drinking?”

“I didn’t know war was that horrible… It’s… really scary when you think that you’ll soon be there…”

She paused to blink again, a slight tilt to her head.

“That’s stupid.” she deadpanned, and he laughed quietly and looked away “What were you expecting, entering the military?”

“Don’t take me wrong…! I was expecting… sceneries… like those. It’s just shocking seeing the raw truth.”

To that she huffed. Since he managed the prowess of making her speak a full sentence, he thought he was now free to ask questions.

Carefully, of course. He still didn’t want a black eye.

“Have you… seen a lot of violence?”

She fell silent, seeming thoughtful.

“Yes.”

“Are you military?”

Another pause.

“Yes.” She looked back at him, bored eyes narrowing as she saw the blonde blink twice, a faint red tint coloring his cheeks and nose.

“You doubt it.”

“No!”

She took a step closer.

“Liar.” She accused coldly.

Armin felt his shoulders tense and the hairs on his neck rise up.

_‘She’s… so… tiny… so scary…’_

“… I’m sorry… you’re-“ he ordered his mouth shut.

“I’m?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly “please forgive me.”

“If you apologize one more time, I’ll punch you.”

“I’m so-“ he silenced himself again, he couldn’t help it, apologies were involuntary at this point. He found comfort in the fact that her face hadn’t changed “You’re… you are very-” he breathed in deeply, gathering courage “You bear a very small stature… I didn’t think you’d be military.”

She blinked, perhaps her way of showing amusement towards a stranger.

“You’re… not mad?”

She shrugged “I got used to comments like that.”

Armin wondered if she would show this much disinterest if he were to make a comment about her nose. Such uncommon format must be a sensitive topic.

“What branch are you thinking of joining?”

She was minimally interested in their chat for starting to ask questions. Or perhaps completely, Armin didn’t know if short answers and intolerance to hesitance were in her nature.

“Scouting Legion.”

She scoffed “Sights of the war demoralized you?”

“… no… more like… shocked.”

She stared silently for a while, and Armin felt her cold and penetrating gaze intensely on him, so he turned to look, to see her roll her eyes boringly and annoyingly.

He felt uneasy and small again as he stuttered “W-what is it?”

“You get a glimpse of the truth and run away, tail between your legs. If you were going to be a cowardly shit, what made you think joining the army was a good idea?”

Armin lowered his gaze in embarrassment. She was right, in every sense. He was weak, barely keeping up with his comrades in physical training, and now, showing fear at the sight of war, where he supposedly would live in for the rest of his career.

“Live up to your words.”

Maybe it had been the lack of honey in her speech, maybe it had been the absolute sincerity in her voice, the truth in her advice, if one could call advice when the other part grandly insulted you. Maybe it had been the insults, even.

But something in that small sentence made Armin more ashamed of his cowardice. And that shame made him want to make up to his moments of weakness.

He looked back up at her, she was gazing off again. He noticed with delight that the initial rage was gone, he liked to think he had helped with that, kept her distracted at least.

“Thank you. I think I was needing that.”

She huffed.

“You know…” he started nervously, reaching to scratch at the back of his head “…I never got your name.”

That got her attention.

Now, that she wasn’t emanating a murderous aura, Armin could safely find her eyes as appealingly striking. Yes, she was bearing a bored look and yes, the icy blue still made him shiver.

But that didn’t make them any less beautiful.

The double doors of the tavern were opened abruptly, interrupting their staring match.

On the entrance, Marco was aiding a nearly passed out Jean. The long-faced boy had quite the swelling black eye. The rest of the group followed close behind, face’s lighter than how they had previously been. Last were Mikasa and Eren, the latter bleeding from a reddened nose and from the reopened wound on his eyebrow, courtesy of Jean, _again_.

“Hey, Armin-“ Connie stopped mid sentence upon noticing the blonde’s mysterious companion “We’re leaving. Jean and Eren got into a fight, they need to get patched up.”

“Plus it’s getting late, and tomorrow we have training.” Mina announced.

“Who’s getting laid…?”

“No one, Jean. Shut up.”

“Oh…! Armin is, isn’t it, Marco…?”

“Shut. Up.”

Armin laughed, attempting at hiding his embarrassment by scratching the top of his head. He turned to the blonde, to notice her eying the group quizzically.

“Lively bunch. But you get used to them!” he smiled gently.

She still wasn’t smiling back.

“I should get going, too.” she announced.

“Uh, y-yeah.”

“Armin, c’mon!” Connie called again.

“Coming!” he turned back to her “Hum, I’m Armin, as you’ve heard… Armin Arlert. And you, milady?”

He offered a hand and a smile. Her face was as inexpressive and her eyes were as bored as they had been throughout this whole conversation.

She closed her eyes, sighed heavily, then turned on her heels, ignoring his smile and greeting.

“There’s no point in giving you my name. We won’t be seeing each other again.” She explained, approaching her horse.

She heard him follow her.

“You… don’t know that.” He tempted.

She looked back at him, face neutral but with annoyed eyes. She climbed on the saddle.

He was still looking up at her expectantly.

“I don’t believe in coincidences.” She said sternly “You’d do well if you did the same.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, either.” He said, approaching her, reaching to pet the snout of her horse “So if we eventually meet again, will you tell me your name…?

She held his gaze for a few seconds.

“I think you have more important matters to worry about… Arlert.”

She then tugged at the reins and rudely galloped past him, not even sparing him a second glance.

Armin watched her go, unfazed by her goodbye, dreaming of a second fortuitous coincidence, not even minding that thoughts like those made him a hypocrite.


	6. A Feast for Pigs

Four days have passed since Erwin had written the retreat request to the High Constable. No response to date. Aside from that, no feedback has been received from the defensive position in the west flank during the previous days; preoccupied with the possible destruction of more camps, Levi ordered, via raven, recon missions in that area in order to learn of the status of the defensive positions.

Now, all that remains for Levi and his comrades is to wait for replies. And the soldiers’ patience was starting to run dry as the situation in the battlefield grew bleaker with every passing hour. But still they followed their orders of maintaining the territory.

Which was what they were doing right now.

A group of fifteen Savages had attacked.

Covered by their archers, lead by Hanji, shooting arrows behind the defensive barricades, a small, elite, vanguard force, where the two strongest soldiers in the military were present, Mike and Levi; the enemy scouts were being pretty much massacred.

Hanji was an excellent shot, but could prove distracting with her maniacal, cheerful personality, giggling and joking as she shot arrows at the eyeballs of warriors. Mike was a beast, easily cutting men in half.

And Levi was simply a prodigy, dancing along the field, wrists loose as his hands gripped the twin blades, swiftly slicing through flesh too quickly for the eye to follow.

The fight was over quite quickly.

Levi looked around him, finding corpses with protruding arrows or fresh wounds from blades. Out of all the corpses, none seemed to bear a Garrison or Scout uniform, to his relief. Petra approached him, sheathing her sword.

“No survivors?” he questioned, retrieving an old cloth from his the pockets and proceeding to clean the blood off of one of his blades.

“No, milord.”

He sighed.

“Pity, Hanji would have liked one for questioning.”

“Hmm…” she hooks her gloved index finger and thumb around her chin “For torturing, you mean…?”

He brought his blade up, so the sunlight bathes it. It’s still dirty to Levi’s eyes, he decided he should wash them once he returns to his personal tent. Nonetheless, he sheathes it and repeats the process for the other sword.

“… it involves questions all the same.” He looks up at her, meeting her smiling eyes. It confused him why she had found his sentence amusing, maybe she had a hidden dark humor, or maybe she just didn’t know how else to respond.

But she was smiling.

This close, under the sunlight, Levi takes a second to embrace the amount of different tones of brown her irises actually possess. It didn’t cross his mind that a corpse-filled battlefield wasn’t exactly the best location to stare silently into his assistant’s eyes, or the fact that staring was rude, at that matter.

“We should return, milord.” She quietly replies, equally holding his gaze.

“Yeah.” He answers promptly, sheathing his clean blade “I’m disgusting. I need to bathe. And these need cleaning.”

He starts walking away, Petra loyally following in tow. He raises an eyebrow when he sees Mike approaching them, retreating back to the camp obviously, but with a wooden log of considerable weight and size in hand.

“The hell’s that for?” Levi inquires neutrally, once the man is within earshot.

“It’s for Nanaba.” he explains “I’m going to sculpt it into a wooden leg; figured it would be more practical than a cane for the rest of her life.”

Levi’s furrow of disapproval wasn’t enough to erase the determination out of the burly blonde’s blue eyes. Petra smiled knowingly at Mike, encouraging him.

“You’re going to get a dirty, old piece of wood near her knee? It’s going to infect again.”

“I’m obviously going to clean it.”

Levi still didn’t approve.

“You can’t clean something like that. Put it away. Ask an artisan to make one.”

“There aren’t any artisans in this forest, Levi.” He said, scrunching his nose in annoyance, unaffected by Levi’s characteristic gelid glare “And if you mistrust my cleaning abilities so much… you could always clean it yourself.”

“I bet he’d love to do that.” Hanji randomly replied, picking up the conversation when they approached the camp’s barricade, where she had been “What are you talking about…?”

“Mike wants to make a wooden leg for Nanaba.”

“Oh, how sweet.” She comments mushily “But maybe she’d prefer something made by a professional. No offense Mike, I’m sure you’re a _great_ sculptor.”

Mike huffs through his nose.

“That’s what I said.”

“There are _no_ artisans in the woods!”

“You could always ask a Savage to make one. I heard they’re great in working with wood.”

“Or I could do it myself. And Levi could clean it.”

“That should work, too.”

The Lieutenant scoffed “I’m not touching that. It’s full of dirt and bugs and fox shit.”

Mike snorted, feeling victorious.

 

* * *

 

 

A comfortable silence was shared by Mike and Nanaba, inside his tent.

On the bedroll, Nanaba’s bandaged, recently amputated knee was exposed atop the covers. Her recovering arm followed the same example. She was dressed in clean, practical clothes, smelling of common soap, hair damp from wetness of her recent bath. A serene expression played on her face, smiling softly as Mike, next to her, sitting cross-legged, silent and focused, carved the piece of wood with a knife.

Nanaba wondered about Mike’s sculpting abilities, he had never seemed to be a skilled artist, but he was dead-set on crafting a leg for her. It showed on his eyes, as well as on his body, how each muscle segment was tense with straining, bulging veins pulsing along his skin and snaking up his naked upper body.

Nanaba couldn’t help but feel extremely well at the loyalty displayed by the handsome man.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” she said, chuckling lowly when his knife bumped into a particularly sturdy piece of wood.

He grunted with straining. Once it was off, he breathed in deeply, brushed sweat off of his forehead and looked back at her.

“Yes, I do have to.”

“You didn’t have to let me sleep here, in your tent, either.”

“I wanted to keep watch over you.”

And he had stayed quite true to his word. So much so that rumors had already started spreading and Hanji had started teasing. Of course they would ignore it, dubbing the comments as ridiculous.

He hears her snort “You think it’s worth it, sleeping on the floor?”

“Frankly, it is.”

She decides not to reply, preferring to chuckle and adopt a fond smile. She then sighs through her nose.

“Are you in pain?” he asks immediately, returning to carving.

She shrugs, “I can take it.”

There’s a pause as Nanaba inhales deeply.

“I still have to get used to the idea that I don’t have half of my leg.”

He lowers his eyelids, a saddened expression on his lips.

“But it was for the best. Better off an amputee than dead…” she continues.

“You wouldn’t be an amputee if I hadn’t been a coward.”

“We’ve talked about this, Mike.”

“It’s my fault… I’m sorry…”

“I’ve done this because I wanted to.” She spoke sternly, searching for his eyes with hers “People need to live up with their choices. I’ve done that, you should too.”

And he tried; he surely did. For himself, his own sanity, as well as for the rest of the army; he couldn’t jeopardize their defensive lines just because of his feelings.

But when the proof of your weakness is right in front of you, how are you supposed to ignore it?

The fact that it had affected someone he holds so dear only made it worse. How could he not blame himself for all the pain he had caused her? All the fevers, hallucinations, restless nights and, obviously, the amputation?

“Mike.” He hadn’t even heard her sit. His eyes automatically fall on hers, alarmed, but saddened still.

“Stop thinking about it. Stop blaming yourself.”

He felt shaking fingers brush his own. He looked down at his hand to find her broken arm extended in its direction. All the sadness and self-loathing evaporates instantly, replaced by concern and bewilderment.

“Nanaba, don’t move!”

“Shut up.” She ordered, her voice strained.

He quickly let go of the wooden piece, his hand gently clasping her own, setting back her broken arm down on the bed. She still made a last effort to adjust her hand in his, rotating her wrist and spreading her fingers.

Taking the hint, Mike automatically intertwined their hands.

“Move on.” She demanded “You just made a mistake… learn from it.”

Mike said nothing else, quietly conceding to her command.

Her palm was warm against his much bigger one. Her quiet presence, her attention entirely on him, made Mike feel immensely at peace. No thoughts were dedicated to the war or anything else, only her.

He crawled closer and carefully ghosted his thumb along her hand, eyes locked in their hugged fingers.

She relaxed into his touch, closing her eyes and sighing in contentment.

 

* * *

 

Ymir awoke in her bed, in the servant quarters of the Reiss Manor. Clean, fully clothed and breathing evenly. The nightmare still crossed her mind, her stomach growled with hunger and her throat felt dry with thirst; she felt tired, imagining the clear dark circles under her eyes.

The string of full moons had ended two days ago. She had learned by deduction that, even though she had only transformed throughout one cycle, she transformed in the full moon; the werewolf legends were true to that point. So no transformations had occurred since the last one.

She brought a hand to her forehead at the reminder of that night.

 _‘I killed three people.’_ She summed up _‘I murdered three soldiers. I got rid of the bodies… but what good does that do; I’m in serious shit.’_

She tilted her head in realization.

_‘Why can’t I remember my previous transformations? Why only this one? Did my body have to grow used to the werewolf side…? If so, then why did it hurt so much to transform, if I was, supposedly, already used to it…?!’_

She furrowed her eyebrows, muffling an annoyed grunt, _‘Shit. I hate this; I’m completely in the dark. How the hell am I supposed to understand something unreal like this?!_

It would just take time, she thought. She had already figured some of the drawbacks, like her restless nights, filled with vivid nightmares, and her uncontrollable hungers and thirsts. She had still to grow accustomed to the uneasy rests, but at least she no longer stirred in her sleep, or whimpered or sweated. The unnatural bodily desires she could live well with. Other drawbacks were a distinctive evolution of her sense of hearing and smell, as well as the improvement of her physical condition, but these she actually welcomed.

She slowly sits, opening her eyes wide when she ears the quick stepping on the hallway.

_‘Oh… fuck.’_

“Ymir, you are so irresponsible.” Isolde stormed inside the room, lifting her dress with the tip of her fingers to avoid tripping “Have you ever heard of _punctuality_? Lady Historia has been awake for two hours! She needed help with preparing herself for the day and you weren’t there! Breakfast has been cooked and served and you were nowhere to be seen! I finally have a minute, I use it to check on you, to find you _asleep_?!”

“Yeah, yeah; I know, grandma. I’ve went to bed late again, bo-hoo, bad Ymir.” She lazily looked up at the angry woman “Are you going to smack me with a slipper, too?”

She narrowed her eyes dangerously. She seemed about to retort, but her face morphed back to a neutral expression in the last second.

“Hush. Get dressed. Lady Historia is in the library.”

She sets off, leaving Ymir to her thoughts.

She didn’t want to get out of bed. She didn’t want to give Isolde the pleasure of knowing that she had obeyed her. Ymir wanted to sleep; she was grumpy, she was tired and she was incredibly enraged at the knowledge that she was a monster, having no clue of how she had become one or what that implied, specifically.

She had better things to do than to follow around a noble girl, even if the girl had proven to be quite the intriguing specimen.

But she didn’t want to be expelled from the manor, her only way of survival, so, she was bound to a period of servitude.

So, despite herself and her angered groans, she got out of bed, dressed her brand new pair of pants and shirt, slipped on her boots, combed her short, wild hair and washed her freckled face and headed off to the kitchen, where she ate and drank greedily.

Then, she was ready to face the day.

And her crimes.

 

* * *

 

 

Ymir had never been to a library. The Reiss’s or any other that has been at her disposal, since she wasn’t much of a scholar or book lover. The knowledge she possessed had been granted by experience, a way she gingerly defended to be the most viable source of wisdom.

But not even she could enter the quiet, spacious room and not wide her eyes in awe at the absurd amount of books in the Reiss library, meticulously treated and kept on the tall, dark bookshelves. Tomes of various thicknesses and topics, old spines some with eye-appealing decorations others just simple and wrinkled, croaking as one grabbed it. In between rows of bookshelves, rectangular tables were present, a few occupied by strange faces, serene in their studies.

It was so quiet, Ymir felt discomfort as she tapped her boots, disturbing the peace.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the squirt. I m-mean… Lady Historia…?” she stuttered, offering a nervous laugh as she approached the librarian, an old, robed man, the blue of his eyes enhanced by the white, thick beard and eyebrows.

He was sitting in front of a desk, concentrated in scribbling in a scroll with a long, white feather, occasionally wetting the tip in a black ink pot. He carefully set down the feather once disturbed, looking up at her with old, tired eyes.

“And who may you be, young lady?”

Either he had ignored Ymir’s boldness or he had simply not heard. She felt gratitude either way.

“I’m her maid.” She wasn’t very comfortable with blithely offering her name.

He blinked, scratching his beard “I… didn’t know Lady Historia had a maid…”

“She does. For three days, now.”

He fell silent for a while, thoughtful, hesitant. But eventually answered.

“Just follow this row here,” he pointed “she’s in the last table. Help her put back the book on the shelf, will you…?”

“Sure.”

She followed the man’s directions, finding the blonde heiress peacefully sitting on a chair, engrossed in the literature of an extremely thick tome.

“Morning.”

Focused on reading as she was, she didn’t notice the brunette approaching, hence the gasp that echoed through the stone walls. She blushed, clamping her mouth shut apologetically, then shot an apprehensive look at a smirking Ymir.

“Ymir!” she whispered “Don’t do that again…!”

She snickered, shaking her head “Oh you bet I’ll do it again, just to see you jump higher.”

The blonde kept scowling up at her, which only amused her more, since she found her scowl so ridiculous. Currently occupied with her duties towards the blonde, Ymir slowly felt her tiredness fade away, her morning grumpiness disappearing, giving room to her usual cockiness and dark humor.

She heard Historia suddenly whisper worriedly.

“Ymir… have you been sleeping at all…?”

She had noticed the dark circles, it seems.

“I have.”

“Then how do you explain _those_?”

“…” she looked away “I’ve just been having some strange nights. I’ll get over them.”

Historia didn’t seem convinced, so Ymir was quick to divert her attention elsewhere.

“Anyways, what are we going to do today, _milady?_ ” she emphasized the noun provocatively, clasping her hands behind her, bending down so her eyes are leveled with the short heiresses’.

“I… don’t know…”

Historia closed the book, careful with maneuvering the heavy quantity of dusty pages. She motioned to nestle it in her arms in order to put it back in its shelf. Upon seeing her tense face, Ymir remembered the request from the librarian.

“Let me help you with that.”

“I can carry it.”

“But you’re not supposed to.” She carelessly snatched it from her hands.

“Careful!”

“Where’s this?” she ignored her warning, preferring to analyzed the brown cover, slender finger tracing the golden outline of the foreign letters, making her wonder of what it was about.

Ymir was of humble roots; she was illiterate. Historia didn’t need to know that, though.

“Over there…” she pointed at an upper shelf, far away from the blonde’s reach. Ymir placed the book with ease, though.

“How did you manage to get it?”

“I asked the librarian…”

Ymir couldn’t help but be affected by the juvenile appeal of the short girl, eyes avoiding her own, small blush on her cheeks.

She grinned toothily, ruffling Historia’s straight bangs, not minding who might be watching.

_‘You’re terribly cute.’_

“You’re such a midget!”

“H-hey! Let go…!” Historia scowled, pushing her hand away, blush brightening.

Ymir eventually complied, faced with the blonde’s squirming and ranting.

“Anyways, where do you want to go again? I hope you’re not intending to stay here the whole day…”

“I don’t know, Ymir. Remember some place you feel curious about?”

“Is there some curious place you’d like to show me?”

She scratched her head “Huh… let me think…”

Ymir waited patiently, crossing her arms in front of her chest, eyes averting to the rest of the library, watching attentively the other occupants. Faced with silence, Ymir was left alone with her questions and worries.

“Ymir… is everything alright…? Are you in pain, or… did you forget something…?”

She was looking up at her with wide, puzzled and worried eyes, taking a cautious step towards the tense brunette.

“I’m fine. Look… since you don’t have any plans for today… why don’t we go for a walk on the gardens again, since you love them so much?”

She was visibly doubtful of Ymir’s response regarding her health, but she eventually condescended to the request, since she had no plans for the day.

Little did she know of Ymir’s true intentions.

 

* * *

 

 _‘It happened somewhere around here…’_ Ymir pondered as she wittily guided Historia towards the crime scene. The girl carelessly walked beside her, an innocent smile on her face replacing her worried expression from before. Ymir was right when she said Historia loved these gardens, even if she had said it in a playful manner.

Historia didn’t seem to have been informed of the murder. Actually, Ymir hadn’t been hearing many rumors of the occurrence at all, not amidst other servants, Reisses or even soldiers.

 _‘Evidence has definitely been found by now… I couldn’t clean the blood; it had already dried on the dirt and grass… plus, how was I supposed to clean with those big-ass paws...’_ she paused to frown _‘Maybe they even found the bodies. So how come there are no rumors? Could they be keeping the investigation a secret, due to the nature of the murder?’_

“There you go again, Ymir…”

She curses under her breath.

“What?”

“What’s wrong, Ymir… I’ve never seen you so worried like this…”

The brunette eyes her with a deadpan look “You’ve known me for three days.” She justifies simply.

“S-so…?”

“So, you’ve never seen much of me.” That was a lie; she was absolutely naked when Historia had met her, but that was an irrelevant detail right now.

Historia seemed to be sharing the same memories, judging from the blush spawning on her cheeks. She also seemed to be of the opinion to not bring the subject up.

“It doesn’t matter.” She contradicts “I’ve never seen you worried. I thought people were supposed to care when another person was worried?”

“But thing is, _I’m fine._ Get it?”

“You’re lying!”

She sighs loudly “Okay! Whatever.” She waves her off and proceeds to ignore her. She hears Historia huffing heavily, probably offended by her resolve, but she ignores that too. Behind her, the blonde follows along, stomping loudly as she walked. She was tempted to comment on how unladylike that was of her, but decided against it, not feeling in the mood.

She could smell blood in the air. It was very faint, but it was definitely there.

She discretely followed the trail, glad that Historia unquestioningly followed in silence, not inquiring as to how was Ymir so accurately leading her throughout the gardens. The scent was getting stronger; damn her beast nature, possessing her into memorizing such a heavy and disturbing smell.

“What’s that ahead?” Historia asked worryingly.

It was what Ymir had just spotted: a group of guards with somber or stern faces, some chatted with each other, others kept watch, others patrolled the location with weary eyes, careful on their steps. One of the soldiers, perhaps a Squad Leader, was speaking with an elegant, blonde woman, accompanied by a noble and their personal servants.

The two girls had found the crime scene.

“… mother?!” Historia called in disbelief as they approached.

Ymir blinked.

“Historia… what…” by Lady Beatrix’s surprised stuttering, the brunette deduced she wasn’t expecting her daughter’s appearance at this place, probably wanted to avoid it “Get back, don’t get any closer.”

“Huh? M-mother…?”

“Do as I say, child.” she ordered, voice soft, but strong.

Historia did as commanded, without as much as a complaint. Ymir found herself blinking again.

Lady Beatrix wasn’t tall, easy to guess from which parent the heiress took after. The woman was rather pale. Her blue eyes did not possess the innocent shape or light of her daughter’s, but they were of the same shade of blue. Her blonde hair was neatly arranged in a fashionable bun and she was wearing a dress of admirable elegance and quality.

She saw Beatrix share a few words with the man accompanying her and walked towards them with calm strides.

Ymir shivered as the woman held her gaze.

When she arrived, the brunette was left speechless at how crystalline her eyes really were, unique tones of blue hiding amidst the most common ones. She could also note the angular form of her elegant face, as well as the sickeningly paleness of her snowy skin, blue soft lines, her veins, present on her neck and arms, barely visible, but there, if you were to look with analytical eyes.

The last thing she noted in Beatrix that was unusual in a human being was her scent; unique, in an alarming way.

_‘She smells like… cold. Like ice… but ice has no smell. She does.’_

“Mother, good morning,” Historia quickly greeted “please tell me what’s going on.”

She was quick to nonchalantly answer.

“There was a murder.”

“A-a murder?!” the young heiress brought her hands to her gaping lips, eyes wide with shock “How horrible! Who…?”

“We don’t know; we haven’t found bodies. But there’s blood and two missing soldiers.”

_‘… two…?’_

As if reading her thoughts, Beatrix explained, eyes still on Historia “… we also have a… witness. A third soldier, badly wounded, both physically and mentally. He doesn’t stop ranting nonsense.”

“… what kind of nonsense, mother?”

Ymir feels a wave of unease rush through her. Beatrix had nimbly glanced her way just now.

“Of werewolves, dear.”

Historia frowns in disbelief, seeming taken aback “Werewolves?”

“I told you it was nonsense.”

“This is so strange…” she comments, hand in her chin “… were it Savages? Has the war reached us?”

Apparently, Historia didn’t believe in supernatural creatures, for her to dismiss the witness’s comments so swiftly, instead offering this much more plausible option. Beatrix tilts her head and offers an affectionate smile.

“Historia, let’s not talk about this. Leave this matter to me, all right?”

“But, mother…! It’s my home, it concerns me!”

“Now, now…” She scolds “The situation is under control. The guards, your uncle and myself are taking care of the case and the culprit will soon be found; our house and land is well protected, you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Historia downed her head and scowled; the brunette wondered if she was going to obey her mother’s orders… she had shown quite the tenacity for fixing problems.

“Now, you wouldn’t mind if I stole Ymir away from you for a while, would you…?”

She blinked upon being mentioned directly. Beside her, Historia shared the same puzzled expression.

“I promise we won’t take long.” She smiled once more, then locked gazes with Ymir, beckoning for her to follow with a tilt of the head. The brunette looked cautiously at the woman, but obeyed.

They walked in silence. Beatrix kept a solemn face, looking ahead; Ymir walked casually but kept a vigilant, sly eye on the noblewoman. She had to suppress a gasp when she had a sudden realization.

_‘Hey… how come she knows my name…?’_

Ymir was wary; Beatrix knew her name and gave strong indications that she knew her secret. She had personally assigned her as Historia’s maid, her, a shallow looking beggar. Plus, she smelled and looked odd.

_‘This woman is one big incognita. Her husband is another curious matter. Their daughter is the same. And then there’s the whole werewolf clusterfuck. All I have are questions and no clue on how to find answers.’_

“Are you liking it here, Ymir?” Beatrix quietly asks, forcing the brunette to center her attention on the blonde beside her.

“Yeah. It’s comfy.”

“Is Historia bothering you much?”

“…not that much.”

She chuckles throatily “She can worry unnecessarily, but she’s a good girl, over all.”

Ymir stares in silent agreement.

“Is everything alright?” Beatrix asks calmly “You seem rather tense.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thoughtful over the murder.”

“Ah… yes. Horrible case. One man was missing a head, the other had his chest turned into a mass of flesh and bone… my personal bet; the murderer used an axe.”

Ymir watched attentively.

“But then how did we find a man near the river with almost every bone of his body broken?”

Ymir was shocked, which was good to keep up the oblivious façade, but what had caused her such astonishment was where they had found the man and how he was alive. She remembers slapping a soldier across the chest, but she didn’t even spare a look at him, worrying about the remaining soldiers. It seems she had thrown him with enough strength for him to land near the river, coursing next to the manor. It was a miracle he was alive. But by the look of things, he won’t be living for long.

Still she had to spare a moment into fully considering her strength.

She decided she should talk.

“Perhaps he suffered an accident.”

“I would believe that, if he wouldn’t ramble so much about the case of the soldiers and of werewolves.”

“Maybe he hit his head.”

She laughs for a moment, then adds “No… they’re definitely connected.”

Ymir remains quiet, wondering what to say next.

“If you have any questions, I’ll answer them the best way I can.”

Ymir wondered why such high levels of trust, but ceased the opportunity hungrily.

“Alright; why is the investigation a secret?”

“We don’t want to alarm anyone.”

“And this mob of loud soldiers sure is discrete.”

“This place, far off in the outskirts of the manor, is quite secluded. No rumors are spread because everyone involved is sworn to secrecy. The investigation is well hidden. No one has been able to find it, until you two came along. Quite ironic how the one person that wasn’t supposed to learn of the murder ended up here.”

“…You mean Historia.”

“Of course.”

“You don’t think she deserved to know?”

“She’s the heiress; she must believe that she lives a wealthy and safe life and is destined to a prosperous future. Murders in her house, or any other predicaments, shouldn’t be of her concern. ”

She couldn’t help the pang of irritation in her voice “…’She must believe’…? You’re trying to raise your child into an ignorant?”

_‘Maybe that’s why she’s such an innocent angel… she’s been ordered to be one.’_

Beatrix’s smile faded, “No. We’re raising our child into a noblewoman.”

“Why are you educating her in a way that’s different from your own? You’re clearly involving yourself in ‘predicaments’; I don’t suppose that guy back there was the infamous, hardworking Frendel Reiss.”

There was a pause of heavy silence. When Beatrix replied, her voice remained in a calm timber, but her eyes showed disturbance towards Ymir’s comment.

“My husband has too much work in his hands as it is; he doesn’t need to handle the household, too.”

Ymir nodded sardonically “And what’s your argument for Historia’s education?”

“I already told you. I’m not expecting you to understand, that’s not what I hired you for.”

“Then what is?” she asked impatiently, ceasing her walking and staring at the noblewoman, golden eyes tarnishing with determination.

Beatrix stopped walking too. She turned, locking gazes with the tall brunette. She seemed at loss of how to phrase her thoughts, opening her mouth once or twice but remaining silent; Ymir waited patiently.

“Ymir… You won’t understand… what I’m going to say…”

“You’re unsure of answering a question you, yourself, proposed…?!”

“You didn’t let me finish.” She warned, making Ymir fall instantly silent. Beatrix took a few steps closer.

“Ymir… I… have a… a selfish request. For you, a complete stranger, the worst person to ever ask this, but… at the same time… the only person to ever be able to achieve this.”

Her eyebrows and eyelashes casted a shadow over her ever-cautious eyes. Her head was slightly tilted, her mouth and nose were contorted in a way that only portrayed her confusion more.

“I want you, Ymir, to protect her.”

In seconds her facial muscles relaxed into a shocked expression, holding in an appalled breath.

“This house is dangerous.” Beatrix went on, ignoring Ymir’s shock “I know everything I’m saying is being contradictory, that’s why I said that you wouldn’t understand. If I could, I would explain. So… believe my words, please. Protect Historia.”

And then she fell silent, eyes expectant for a response she had to be patient for.

Ymir, once more, didn’t know what to think. Her whole brain was a messy blob of questions, some of them she already had answers to, or she thought she did, others she thought it was best to push them back, for they were simply impossible to face at the moment.

But she remembered the woman was waiting for an answer from her, which she didn’t have, ironically. She licked her dry lips, blinked and sighed thoughtfully.

_‘First things, first.’_

“Why me?”

Beatrix slowly closed her eyes, shook her head once, before averting her eyes at the crime scene. They lingered there for half a silent minute before looking back at a pale Ymir.

“Because you can.”

 

* * *

 

The night of the feast had come; a glorious banquet awaited the guests.

The duke and his associates had arrived at the city that late afternoon, hidden behind the curtains of their glamorous chariots, pulled by sturdy and healthy looking steeds and guarded by a group of soldiers. Upon arrival, the guests were escorted towards the castle to meet his lordship and his court.

No one of importance witnessed the duke’s face.

Due to the banquet, security had been reinforced, with Garrison on their usual posts, close to the walls, patrolling the hallways or keeping watch on the various rooms, and with Knights safeguarding the Great Hall and its surroundings; the place where the feast would take place.

Currently, Lieutenant Djel Sanes was arranging the patrols.

“Patrols will function in the following manner; I will form groups which will be assigned to guard a respective place for one hour, then, groups will switch positions with the one nearest to them. This way, we keep a constant watch and everyone gets relieved.”

“We don’t get breaks, sir?”

“You’re only allowed to leave your post if you _absolutely_ need to. And you are to return to your group _always_.”

“I don’t get it…”

“Sir Djel means that if you need to take a piss or eat, you can leave, but you must return.”

There are quiet sounds of understanding before the Lieutenant speaks again.

“I will start in reading the names belonging into each group now.”

After a lot of names, belonging to unknown faces of more experienced Policemen, were mentioned, followed by their respective position, Bertholdt had been called, along with his companions. He sighed in relief at recognizing the names.

“Reiner Braun, Bertholdt Hoover, Annie Leonhardt, Marlowe Freudenberg and Hitch will guard the west wing.”

The last two were significantly familiar, he barely talked with them, but they were new in the Military Police, rookies, like them, probably the reason why they had been made into a group. Apparently, in this military branch, the rookies all got paired together and were assigned with the hardest, most tiring tasks available, as was the case with the place they were supposed to guard.

Nonetheless, Reiner approached him, smirk on his face “We’re together, Bert!”

He smiles upon his arrival, no intention to speak.

His thoughts are filled with his small blonde companion, a few feet away. She didn’t even seem to have noticed that her name had been called, and she hadn’t made an effort to join them.

“Something’s wrong, Bertholdt?” Reiner asks quietly, walking to his side and trying to discover what was the object of the tall knight’s attention.

“I’m worried about Annie…” he whispers nervously, afraid the girl could hear, even though she clearly wasn’t within earshot.

“Oh… Annie. Yes, she’s clearly not alright.”

Bertholdt hums tentatively.

“She hasn’t been alright for a while, too.” Reiner adds.

“It… started when she came back from visiting her father.”

“I agree. Do you think something happened to him?”

“Nothing bad, I think… otherwise she would have been… worried.”

“And she’s obviously angry.”

“She’s not just angry, Reiner…” he explains, glossy emeralds facing the blonde’s sharp eyes “We’ve seen her angry before… at those times, she was just cold and annoyed for a while... then she recovered quickly. Right now… she looks like she might kill anyone that tries to talk to her…”

Reiner makes a thoughtful noise through his throat “So… let’s not try talking to her…?”

He slowly nods “I think it’s for the best… she needs her space.”

 

* * *

 

The Great Hall was filled with the sound of cheery laughter and loud conversation, the musicians played joyful tones composed of rhythmical flutes, guitars and the occasional low pang of the drums. The long table was completely occupied with vivid colors of extravagant dishes; deer, boar, rabbit and chicken, gleaming with grease and missing a few limbs, torn by the gluttonous nobles. Fruit pies, bread, jars of wine and mugs of beer were scattered throughout the table, red stains drenched the cloth covering it, silver cutlery shimmered under the candle light from the numerous chandeliers.

In front of the table, a man dressed in an eye-appealing suit, spat fire through his mouth, dangerously close to a torch. Close to him, other performers, dressed in similar costumes, showed other abnormal tricks.

The nobles watched in awe.

“Very good, won’t you agree?” the king quietly asked.

“Yes.” The Duke replied “A very good trick indeed, Your Grace. You selected the most skilled entertainers.”

The King smirked, then, drank from his cup; the Duke mimicked him. They returned into watching the performers in silent admiration.

 

* * *

 

Bertholdt and his group had reached the Great Hall’s main entrance by now.

Annie remained silent like a corpse throughout all the previous patrols, only moving when necessary, otherwise, leaning against a wall, arms crossed, face expressionless and cold eyes staring at some random spot.

Anyone that saw her would just describe her as being the quiet type, and although they weren’t wrong, Reiner and Bertholdt knew better just by looking in her eyes that something horribly perturbed her. They could see the emotions dancing in her orbs; a blizzard, where hate was the snow.

But Hitch had found her character quite endearing, it seemed. Often she insulted her, seeing what made her tick, trying to bring the blonde to talk.

_“Quite the trio you are. There’s Handsome, Handsome and… the Broody, Bitchy Blonde.”_

_“I bet if we fold you right, you can fit in my pocket.”_

_“Does your nose help with aiming?”_

But Annie completely ignored her; she didn’t answer, she didn’t look at her, she didn’t even seem to listen. Which was good, the least they wanted was to witness murder. Either way, Marlowe found that what Hitch was doing was rude and unnecessary, so he dragged her away from the group, saying they would patrol some other location in their area, leaving the main door for the trio.

Secretly, Annie gladly accepted the silence.

Berthodlt and Reiner, on the other hand, now grew impatient because they were alone, in the presence of their troubled friend; and would be for at least another hour before they were relieved.

They wanted to help, lessen her tension in some way, in any way, but they also wanted to grant her the space they knew she needed. They learned from experience that Annie, unlike Berthodlt but somewhat similar to Reiner, liked to solve her own problems. They thought that she believed that help from others probably made her weak, so she always bared her teeth and claws at anyone when she was stressed.

This left the two young men no other choice but to keep their distance. No matter how much they wanted to help, they would just have to wait.

They hoped she knew she had two friends whom she could count on, though.

 

* * *

 

The knight nimbly avoided the strike, the separate pieces of his armor rustling against each other as he cautiously stepped away of the set of swings that followed.

A guttural scream escaped his opponent’s helmet – a power attack.

He twisted in his feet and miraculously avoided the strike, his cape taking the brunt of the attack. His back came into contact with something solid.

A pillar.

His eyes widened at the dashing knight.

He was gasping, strained thighs barely keeping his body steady on two feet, heavy from the armor. On top of that, the man was too big, the great-sword seemed too sharp and his barbaric scream was too loud, roaring in his ears.

He was doomed.

The hit never came, though.

A round of applause for the victorious knight. He raised the visor of his helmet, meeting him with smiling eyes, his shoulders shaking as he breathed. The defeated knight sheathed his sword and took off his helmet.

“Good match.”

The other nodded tiredly.

They approached the Great Table and bent a knee for their king.

The old man coughed to steady his voice.

“A most entertaining match. Eat and drink as you see fit, you’ve earned it.”

They bowed their heads respectfully, muttering honorable words. They took their leave, to undress their armors. On the table, the Duke circled the tip of his cup, head supported on his open palm, eyes aware, though the man seemed utterly bored.

The King sat back down, adjusted his cloak and clothes and took a long gulp of wine.

The musicians started playing another tune. Around them, the lesser nobles commented the course of this feast.

The Duke blinked, glancing at the bearded man beside him.

“Your Grace, are there any more exquisite attractions this evening?”

The King looked back “There is still a play.”

The Duke quietly hummed.

“Are you not enjoying the night?”

“No, Your Grace, the night has been most entertaining. I’m honored you accepted my request and prepared such a pleasant banquet.”

It was the King’s turn to hum.

“Your Grace… it was just that I meant to speak with you…”

“Then speak.”

“Your Grace, I explained in my letter that I had a matter of extreme importance to discuss with you and your court. Privacy would be grandly accepted.”

“Ah… yes… you did write that. I forgot.”

“Understandable, Sire. You do have a kingdom to tend to.”

The King quietly chuckled at the words. He finished his drink before standing, initiating a silence among his vassals.

“Anyone that isn’t a member of the court, leave.”

 

* * *

 

Time was a snail dragging its lazy body through an arid plain.

Reiner counted his sighs or checked his gear, while Berthodlt seemed about to melt into a pool of nervous sweat, fidgeting with his feet, doing everything in his power to avoid looking Annie’s way.

Oh, how desperately he wanted to speak with her… but would never; he was too much of a coward for that.

Suddenly, the silence was enhanced when the music stopped. The laughing and chatting continued, but it was slowly dying down too, being replaced by the constant stepping of boots over wood boards and objects being moved around.

Reiner and Bertholdt shared glances. They saw Annie’s face coming to life.

The three mutually, mentally, agreed, without sharing looks.

_‘No feast ends this soon.’_

It has been only three hours and a half.

The low sound of heavy doors being pushed open filled the empty, stone hallways. A throng of people, entertainers, musicians, servants and even guards, started walking out of the Great Hall, whispering about the feast and their performances, hoping that the nobles had enjoyed it. Most of them just walked silently.

Reiner was quick to take the opportunity to question a silent, passing maid.

“Hey,” Reiner called, gently grabbing her shoulder “Is the banquet over?”

The gesture had startled her, but she promptly replied “No, the lords just wish to speak alone for now.”

He hummed thoughtfully, releasing her shoulder and thanking her for the information.

The last servants to leave closed the doors behind them, leaving the knights alone once more. This time, curiosity and a certain level of worry, kept them company.

 

* * *

 

“So, what is this matter that requires my immediate attention…?”

The air smelled of food, fire and drink. The spacious room was quiet, the King and his court on one side of the table, whereas the Duke and his associates sat on the other side.

The Duke stood.

“Your Grace… it is of the most pressing matters. I’ll be… direct.” He started walking away from the table, his strides resonating through the quiet hall, loud, precise steps mixing in with the cracking fires that cast shadows on the room.

“Your Grace, what is your opinion of your regime?”

The king’s eyes opened wider at the unexpected, seemingly blasphemous, question. The court was silent as a grave.

“What sort of question is that?”

“Purely a question, Sire.”

“Is this the matter you bring me…?”

“No, Sire. This is just an introduction to the matter I wish to discuss.”

“Milord, that’s insulting for The King!” a member of the royal court spoke.

The old man calmly raised a hand to calm his people. They fell silent, hesitantly looking at their king. All the time, the Duke watched, not worried in the slightest about his words.

“What do I think…?”

“Yes, My Liege.”

The king filled his glass and took a sip. The Duke patiently waited.

“I believe that the monarchy I’ve established is correct.” He started “Taxes are reasonable, the people have work and good conditions to live in, the military is well organized and my people has God’s blessing.”

The Duke drunk in the answer, nodding as the King spoke. Then he commented.

“My Liege, are you speaking of Sina, or of your Kingdom as a whole?”

“My Kingdom; the monarchy doesn’t apply solely to Sina.”

“Obviously, My Liege.” He concurred “If so, then allow me to ask. If that was your answer, what do you have to say in regards of the poor and sick, of the tortured by the inquisition, or of the soldiers dying in the war?”

Again, the line of trust was being dangerously crossed by the Duke.

“There is no perfect monarchy. Things like those are always bound to happen.” He explains “Why the question?”

“My King, those problems aren’t encountered among the Free People.”

“The Free…” he quietly repeated “You mean the Savages…?”

“Mistakenly named that, yes.”

“Mistakenly? You don’t think that man-beasts that butcher my men, rape their women and pillage everything in sight aren’t Savages? Men that have no home, no leader, no voice of reason, no God… the only thing they live for is for fighting. You think those people have a just hierarchy?”

The Duke chuckled as he approached the table.

“My King… don’t be misguided by rumors and reports. You don’t think your soldiers don’t do the same things you said when given the chance? Men are just men… and spoils of war are always welcome.” He filled a glass “Oh… and, you’d be surprised to see the Free People up close. Did you know their children are immediately taught how to fight, as well as read and write, when they come of age, for example? Here, you only get the privilege of knowledge if you’re highborn…”

He snorted, highly disagreeing “Do you support their cause…?”

“I do, My Liege.”

“My King!” one member of the court spoke, obviously saturated of the Duke’s words “This is blasphemy!”

“Yes, Your Grace, never mind what he’s done and represents; he deserves to be hung!”

“Shut up.” The king commanded. The turned back to the Duke “Sate your point.”

“My Liege; your monarchy is unjust. The contrast between noble and peasant is too big, the corruption is too great, the Inquisition has an unnecessary power over the people’s beliefs and lives, forcing them into worshipping a God they could very well not believe in…”

He pauses to allow his words take effect. Although the court watches in astonishment and disbelief, the King remains impassive.

“It was this injustice that gave birth to the Free People; every man that rebelled against you is just one more soul that shares my opinion.” He placed his hands on the surface of the table, eyes locked with the King’s “You have created this war, My Liege.”

The King ponders the words for a few seconds.

“You want me to surrender.”

The Duke smirks.

“I do not _want_ it, Your Grace. I highly recommend it.”

Absolute silence.

The King lazily brings his tired eyes back to the smirking Duke. Then he takes his time to analyze his associates, seeing the unusual posture, the coldness in their eyes and their chewed and dirty nails on their rough hands.

Assassins, playing as nobles.

The King chuckles bitterly, taking a long gulp from his glass, eyes fixated on the silver object, portraying a multitude of emotions. The court is left speechless, not because of the disguised assassins, but still because of the Duke’s speech.

“What do you have to gain in all of this…?”

The Duke shrugs, calmly picking his words “I would grant myself and my family permanent safety, I would end the injustice… I would bring peace… Oh, and obviously I would be the King.”

“I thought the Savage King would fill that role.”

“That was initially the bargain, but changes can be arranged.” He smirks.

Despite everything, the King laughs.

“I would have never thought that they had noble allies… smart move from them. I was stupid to not think this through… the sudden request for a meeting… the proposal of a feast…”

“There was no way you would have guessed, Your Grace. I am a very discrete person, after all.”

He closes his eyes as he repeats the previous chuckle, looking back at him.

“That you are… you pig-shit traitor.”

The Duke sighs “Does this mean you refuse to surrender…?”

“If I were to surrender, would you let me live?” he questions, ignoring the confused looks from his court.

“…Probably not.”

“Then this is pointless. The end will be same, whatever I answer… for both myself and my people.”

“Hmm… I sincerely don’t know.” He speaks, taking slow strides, circling the table like a predator does to its prey. “A massacre is inevitable, that much is certain. But maybe your people will be merciful…?”

The King ignores the fact that he had just blithely mentioned the Savages has ‘his people’. He doesn’t run away, nor follows the Duke with his eyes. He hears him walk behind him. He feels extreme cold fingers position themselves on his head.

“Any last wishes, My Liege?”

“… will the court live?”

He feels the Duke’s fingers thoughtfully drum his skin.

“A court is a center piece in the political organization of a monarchy, Sire…”

The King unconscious swallows dryly, but promptly nods.

He still hears the assassins jump from their seats towards his terrified court members, knives in hands. Then the Duke swiftly snaps his neck.

 

* * *

 

Annie suddenly jumps. Reiner and Bertholdt eye her quizzically.

Then they hear it; the muffled sound of toppling of furniture, startled gaps and yelps, falling bodies and loud running sounds.

They immediately barge inside the Great Hall.

They shudder at the sight.

Reiner is the first to act, dashing towards the assassins at inhuman speed, pushing people out of his way with his shield in order to save what members of the court he could.

Annie skillfully draws arrows and aims them at the assassins Reiner had pummeled.

Bertholdt rushes in to aid the burly blonde.

 

* * *

 

“What was that?!”

“Sure sounded like it came from the Great Hall.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be loud in there?”

“No, not since everyone left…”

A pause, silence as realization settles.

“… oh, fuck…”

“The King’s in danger.”

“Who’s in the area right now?”

“The five rookies, I think.”

There’s another pause.

“You think…?”

“We’ll know soon enough. Men! Let’s move! Sound the alarm, Garrison to their posts. I want the civilians out of the way!”

 

* * *

 

Reiner screamed a battle cry as he pushed, with the aid of his shield arm alone, two assassins out of him, giving the opportunity for Bertholdt to finish them off with powerful swings with his great-sword.

Looking back at Annie, he found her safe and sound. She discarded her bow when she had been targeted by some assassins, but they weren’t expecting her to be so proficient in close quarters combat.

Fourteen assassins. The Duke had disappeared, if he had been killed or kidnapped, they were unsure.

But regicide had happened.

“Check for survivors…” he breathlessly commanded, hurrying up to the side of the massacred bodies.

“Oh, God… Reiner… the King…”

“Check for survivors, Bertholdt!”

The tall knight fell silent, recognizing his mistake and proceeding to examine the bodies. Annie did the same around the assassins, deducing that it would be beneficial if they were to be able to interrogate one of them.

Their search was rudely interrupted by a large number of soldiers barging inside the Great Hall, swords in hand, gasping for breath. Annie counted twenty.

Reiner was the one that voiced the trio’s thoughts, commenting angrily at the panting soldiers.

“Took your sweet time getting here… now’s too late…”

They walked warily, eyes dangerously set on each of the young knights. Annie grew cold towards the animosity, casting glances at her comrade, keeping a discrete defensive stance.

“What the hell happened here...?!”

“What does it look like?!” he shouted.

“Reiner.” Annie called.

Bertholdt was starting to notice the ominous stares, too.

“What I see, rookie… is our king dead. The court massacred. The Duke’s associates dead, too and no Duke to be seen.” He approached Reiner, gripping tighter to his sword.

The blonde dangerously narrowed his eyes.

“Oh. And you three standing, bloodied and alone.”

Annie had been cornered by three soldiers, eying her savagely, “Reiner…”

The unknown knight was quick to give the order.

“KILL THEM! A REWARD TO THE ONE WHO HANDS ME THEIR HEADS!”

Annie jumps backwards to avoid the slash going her way, unsheathing her twin swords. She’s in an obvious disadvantage, only able to block and evade. Eventually, they manage a blow on her arm, followed by a punch to her cheek.

Next, she hears a bellowing scream and the heavy stomping of a rampaging titan in plate armor.

In one bestial, strike, Bertholdt slices one of the soldiers in half. The next, he hacks his great-sword into his shoulder, cutting deep until he draws an oblique line in the man’s sternum. The last is so appalled at the man’s brutal, unrecognized strength, he barely has time to see the sword coming horizontally towards his neck, cutting his head off clean.

Annie too, is wondering where the hell had the shy and unsure boy run off to.

“Annie are you alright?” he’s not looking at her, too focused on the remaining soldiers “If you can, then please, fight with us. We can’t just die here, it’s not fair.”

Despite the bleeding in her forearm, the regicide and the traitorous acts he had just committed, and Reiner too, she learned as she stared his way, Annie laughed. It was a soft, short, and throaty pang of laughter; it was also somewhat maniacal, judging from the moment she had decided to laugh, but it was a joyful tone none the less.

Bertholdt loved it.

“You’ve grown a pair, Bertholdt. Thanks.” She picked herself up, gripping her swords tightly in her hands, ignoring the gash in her arm “I agree with you. Now, let’s go help Reiner.”

 

* * *

 

They don’t know how they, singlehandedly, managed to defeat in combat twenty soldiers.

They don’t know how they managed to escape the castle undetected, with all the blood covering their weapons and armor, with all the commotion inside, from the regicide.

They don’t know how they managed to escape Sina, either.

Or how they managed to steal three horses.

What they did know, was that they were fugitives. Mistakenly deemed prime enemies of the crown, king-slayers, wanted criminals. Soon, their faces would be on posters all over the kingdom. No town would be safe for them.

Knowing this, Annie would never be able to see her father again. And when this was reminded to her, she just shrugged, staring off. Bertholdt had carefully inquired her about it, helped by Reiner, but Annie didn’t reply nor look at them. As much as it bugged them, they let it go.

They didn’t even stop to consider that they had just pried and she hadn’t acted violently.

Now, all that was left for them was a life as fugitives. Just them, against bandits, wars and laws, cold and hunger, loneliness and misinterpretation.

Reiner Braun, Bertholdt Hoover and Annie Leonhardt – the fugitive knights.


	7. Sacrifice

Chaos had settled in Sina; soldiers and MP’s dashed through the hallways of the mourning Castle, investigating a murder whose culprits had been already quite surely established. People were being interrogated, bodies were being searched and the suspects were being procured, their whereabouts a pertinent question, though.

On the other hand, the rumor had been quickly spread throughout the city, being it a beehive where its hardworking bees buzzed with loose tongues. Amidst the confusion, theories were born, a lot of them incoherent and quite distorted from the truth, others utterly blasphemous and others offensive towards God. The Inquisition made short work of any of these conspirers, the grease from their flesh feeding their pyres.

Due to all of this, Darius Zacklay has demanded a meeting between himself and the three Commanders of the military branches.

Erwin had received the letter already, reading its contents analytically despite the gravity of it all, and immediately wrote to Levi, explaining the news.

The letter hadn’t yet arrived, so, the Lieutenant, along with all the soldiers in the frontier, were none the wiser to the demise of their king.

He was currently gearing up, but finding difficulty in strapping his right shoulder guard.

That was when, miraculously, his trustworthy assistant gently walked inside his tent.

“Good morning, Levi.” She greeted groggily, her hair uncommonly disheveled. He almost felt pity for ordering someone to wake her up so early in the morning, though he did find her sleepy appearance somewhat comical “I’ve brought you breakfast.”

He spared a glance at the cheese sandwich and mug of ale she had placed atop the map table, carefully, so to avoid the paperwork.

“Thank... you…”

She looked back at him, finding the straining in his voice uncommon. When she acknowledged his difficulties, she was quick to aid.

“Let me help you with that.”

And didn’t allow him the chance to decline, her hands approaching the piece immediately, waiting for him to remove his so she could work with the beltings herself.

He removed his hands and watched her focused, but tired eyes.

“Levi…” she called, eyes set on the shoulder-guard “…why are we up so early…?”

He had briefly forgotten.

“We’re going on a recon mission, on the west flank.”

She glanced up at him “Is it because of the lack of feedback?”

“Yes.”

“It’s… been two days since you’ve sent the letter… we could wait a little longer, instead of taking so much time, crossing the forest…”

“I can’t afford to wait. It may be that nothing happened... but I’d rather be safe than sorry.” He walked away when she had signaled she had finished and moved towards the breakfast Petra had so kindly made.

Petra hums, a mix of agreement and discontentment.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, ignoring her complaints.

“Yes.”

“Good. Ready our horses. When you’re done, go wake Hanji’s squad, they’ll be accompanying us. We’re leaving in one hour.”

He proceeds to down the drink. She pauses to analyze why his pick of companions, deducing he had picked the extroverted soldier to balance this team’s offense and defense, him favoring the sword and her, the bow.

She yawned before asking “Then… Squad Leader Mike will be in command of the camp in your absence?”

He breathes satisfyingly, setting down the mug and looking back at her “Yes.”

“Okay, then…” she walks towards the exit “…I’ll go wake Squad Leader Hanji, then.”

“No, I’ll wake her.” He announces, grabbing the sandwich and walking past her. As he walks of, he mumbles audibly.

“That’s why I’m giving you an hour.”

 

* * *

 

When they arrived, the chill of night had settled, caressing their bones, even through the light armor and dark green cloak, the hoods falling over their heads in feeble attempts to warm their freezing ears, face and neck.

Their horses were left behind, tethered to trees, far away from the camp in this maze of vegetation.

Currently, they were crouched, hiding in the shadows and bushes, sprawled on the floor, watching from atop a small hill with clear view of the camp below, as well as a great portion of its surroundings.

If there was only _anything_ to look at.

The entire area had been devastated. The air felt thick of smoke and ash, and smelled heavily of putrid, rotting corpses and blood puddles drying against the dirt, rock and grass. The watchtowers, barricades, walls and tents had all been burnt to the ground or severely damaged. The trees were slender and black, naked of leaves, their branches fragile from the abuse of fire; all flora growing around the camp had been damaged similarly.

One of Hanji’s squad members swallowed before whispering “They’ve... burned everything …”

“And killed everyone…”

But the object of the Lieutenant’s attention and worries wasn’t the destroyed region or slaughtered men.

It was the Savage army camping along the west flank.

Numerous, countless, a fathomable amount of warriors, speaking with each other, eating or drinking, knitting furs and leathers for their armors, sharpening their weapons or patrolling. They were accompanied by a multitude of trolls, armed with clubs or hammers and dressed in heavy armors the scouts couldn’t imagine where the Savages had found the tools or materials to make those. Or how they managed to tame the beasts, at that matter.

“Perhaps by feeding them…” Hanji whispered, when Levi questioned her about it. She turned to him “…you know… like _that_ night.”

He hummed, gazing back at the army. He took a moment to wonder for how long it has been here and how no one has ever noticed it.

_‘They’ve probably made sure to leave no survivors. Probably avoided central camps, rushed in like snakes through the already weakened western flank and destroyed everything in their path.’_

Possibly making assumptions like he was, Hanji came to a conclusion that had already surged on him.

“Levi, any camp close to the army will be crushed.”

He nods “I know. As we ride back, we’ll pass through another big camp. We’ll warn them of the army. They’ll spread the message through the other camps on the central lane.”

“Are you thinking of concentrating the whole army in the eastern flank…?”

He looks back at her with a deadpan look “Our numbers have just decreased stupidly. I’m sure there’s room for everyone.”

“… okay.” She nods slowly, looking back at the army “I have to wonder how nobody noticed the smoke, though… or the smell… perhaps even the noise. Trolls can be really noisy.”

“Maybe the massacre happened recently. Maybe letters have already been sent to our camp.”

He silently commanded her to keep observing.

They saw a tent of considerable size in the centre of the camp. Not one to be fooled by the same trick twice; this time, Levi knew some sort of monster was inside that tent. It was imperative that they knew what.

But in their current situation, moving inside the camp would be suicide, so it was best to stick to watching.

He narrowed his eyes upon noticing catapults, close to a river that coursed in the distance. Probably the same river that flowed near his camp.

“See that, Hanji?” he pointed.

“Barely… you know my eyes aren’t what they used to be…”

Levi huffed, biting back a remark as to why she was still in the army, having poor eyesight like she did, and still went through a lot of book reading and map analyzing. Instead, he opted to explain.

“Catapults. How the hell did they get those?”

Hanji squinted her eyelids, then almost gasped aloud, whispering a rant “Fascinating… the Savages have artisans… that… or they just stole them.”

Levi hummed again.

“Are those… goblins I see…? Hmm… impossible to see from here, Levi… could we get a closer look…?”

“Shut up Hanji, we need to head back.” He commanded, shimmying away from his position, then standing to a crouch and proceeding towards the location of their horses “Erwin desperately needs to know this.”

“Aw… but seeing creatures like this up close is so fascinating…! Aren’t you interested in the slightest…? Levi…?”

“Squad Leader Hanji… I think precaution methods for a possible invasion are concerning the Lieutenant at the moment…”

“Ah, Petra… don’t be so serious! Have you no curiosity of the unknown and unexplained…?!”

“To be sincere, Squad Leader… and not neglecting your passion for… myths... I’m more concerned for our city’s safety.” She gently commented, wondering if she were crossing the line with her reckless honesty.

Hanji chuckled.

“My dear Petra…” she placed her hand atop the girl’s head “… Levi’s grumpiness is affecting you!”

“Huh…?”

“What makes you think that knowledge isn’t the key for victory?”

Petra almost asked if that theory was what made the cheery soldier to bear the personality she did, but decided against it, retreating along with the Squad Leader and her squad.

 

* * *

 

Immediately after receiving the letter from the High Constable, Dot Pixis, the middle-aged, bald drinker, set off from Trost, the castle he called home and headquarters of his military branch, to Sina. The journey would usually take five days, but the Commander managed in three restless days of riding, accompanied by his Lieutenant, Ian Dietrich and his squad.

Upon arrival at the castle, Pixis headed to the meeting room, gently opening the door and peering inside, “May I…?”

Darius Zacklay spoke in a baritone voice “You’re late.”

He smiled apologetically “Forgive me, milord. It is a considerable distance.”

“I scheduled this meeting considering the distance, Commander.”

“Again, milord… all I can offer are my most sincere apologies…”

Zacklay ignored the pleasantries, gesturing with a tilt of his head “Sit down.”

He obeyed, unceremoniously entering the room, the eyes of the other occupants on his calm-looking figure, watching as he sat down next to Erwin Smith.

Zacklay is a strong man, tall, with noticeable shoulder broadness and quite the prominent stomach. His grey hair was combed along his skull, his old face adorned by a thick beard. His dull, yet sharp eyes seemed tired by age.

“Did I miss something important?” Pixis questioned loudly.

“Commander Nile was offering a resume of the happenings, based on a report by his Lieutenant.” Zacklay answered.

“Ah, yes. I met Djel on the way here.”

“Did he explain the situation to you, Commander?” Nile asked.

“Yes, he did me that favor.” He commented, adjusting himself on his chair. He noted a jar of wine above the table. He watched it briefly as he spoke “I had no idea of how bad it were… one thing’s reading a letter… an entirely different one is witnessing the chaos and confusion our people was plunged into…”

Zacklay tilted his head as he rested one of his elbows on the table’s surface “That is why this meeting was of utmost importance, Commander.”

Pixis drew a sympathetic expression “Then let’s proceed, milord.”

The bald soldier finally gave in to the wine. He reached for the jar to fill his glass.

“Yes, let’s.” Zacklay coughed before speaking “Our King had no live successor of common knowledge and his queen has long since died. Knowing these factors, the true heir to the throne would be his brother, but he is far away, up in Maria, meaning that a three month travel would be necessary before the heir arrives.”

He pauses, Erwin speaks.

“So, first, we need to warn the royal family?”

“Yes.”

“Meanwhile, as we wait for the heir’s arrival, all responsibilities of the Realm befall on your shoulders, isn’t that right, milord?”

He replied boringly “As is expected of my position, yes.”

Another pause.

“Then, milord… what are your orders?”

Zacklay sighed thoughtfully, eying the paperwork and map atop his table and after another prolonged silence, he replied.

“Firstly, Erwin and Pixis, you will retreat your soldiers from the frontier. All wounded are to return to their respective cities, all able soldiers are to return here. Sina was directly targeted, it’s safe to assume that future attacks are bound to happen. A full frontal assault on our city is a possibility we shouldn’t negate, considering the numbers you so frequently speak to me about on your reports, Erwin.”

“Yes, milord.”

Erwin, who had received the report from Levi three days ago, was purposely concealing the fact that his Lieutenant had learned of the existence of an army on the west flank.

“Do you agree with the order?”

“Of course. But I do have a question, milord…” he softly placed his arms atop the table’s surface “… will I be allowed to arrange the defenses?”

“You and Pixis. Your plans must be explained to me before being set into motion, understood?”

His response was prompt “Of course, milord.”

Zacklay turned to Pixis “Do you agree with a retreat?”

“Yes, but… what of the heir? Shouldn’t he be under protection? If a retreat is to happen, I can dispatch soldiers from the frontlines to travel to Maria for enhanced surveillance…”

“There is no need. Sina is obviously their main focus; all attacks have taken place in the woods nearby the city, as well as some settlements close by. Cities farther north, like Rose or Maria, haven’t suffered any attacks from the war.”

“And Maria has dispatched close to no soldiers.” Nile retorted “And there are MP’s in the castle, as well. The heir is well protected.”

No commentaries regarding the Militay Police’s poor performance a few days ago were made.

“I believe your judgment, milord.” Pixis finally answered.

“Good. Warn your soldiers in Maria, Pixis.” He concurred. He turned to Nile “Commander, you write to your knights. The heir is always to be under an escort, understood?”

“Yes, milord.”

He silently nodded “Also, Nile, you are in charge of the investigation here.”

“No investigation is required, milord. We know who were the culprits.”

The High-Constable narrowed his eyes “Are you sure it was those three?”

“Milord… there’s more than enough evidence: the three rookies were seen in the Great Hall among the dead bodies, blood on their swords.”

“Have you considered thinking outside the box, Nile?” Erwin interrupted calmly

The knight grew cold towards the cold comment, almost growling as he uttered “What do you mean, Erwin…?”

“I mean, Nile, that the answer may not be as obvious as it seems; that you and your men should consider investigation more thoroughly.” He advised “You may be charging the wrong people. For example; I heard there were knives on the floor, of an orthodox craftsmanship. Quite not like the quality of weaponry among MP knights.”

Nile stared silently.

“Perhaps the true killers are still to be discovered.”

“Interesting… I did not know of the knives…” Pixis commented.

“My point remains.”

The knight silently clenched his fists beneath the table “Annie Leonhardt was quite fond of alternative equipment. Throwing knives included, have you heard of that, too… Erwin…?”

He sighed as he answered “I did not. I haven’t had the chance of questioning about these three knights.”

“Regardless…” Zacklay silenced them both “… if the accusations are accurate or not. Reiner Braun, Bertholdt Hoover and the aforementioned Annie Leonhardt are accused of the murder of thirteen soldiers of the twenty that rushed in to the King’s aid. The seven survivors are witnesses.”

“Witnesses from which I base my accusations.”

Erwin fell silent. Pixis was idly drinking his second glass; oh, how much he loved Sina wine.

“The three resisted arrest, abandoned their posts deserted their city, committed multiple murders and are being framed of regicide, which I’m highly inclined into deeming them guilty, due to the amount of evidence supporting the claim.” Zacklay set down the papers he was attentively looking at “They need to be found and executed.”

“Agreed, milord.” Nile promptly complied, glancing swiftly at the silent blonde.

He slowly nodded in agreement, as did Pixis. Although both considered the possibility of a misunderstanding regarding the culprit of the regicide, there was no denying the other crimes these three have committed, and for that, justice should be delivered.

“Good, all in agreement.” He turned to Nile “I want this information to be made public.”

“On it milord. Posters with their portraits will be delivered to every settlement in this kingdom and you can trust my knights in dealing with the investigation.”

“I hope I can.”

He dragged his chair, motioning to stand. All mimicked him.

“War is upon us, Commanders.” He started “This is the summarization of what we discussed: the heir’s safety is of utter importance, all able troops in the woods are to retreat to strengthen our defenses here and the knight trio are wanted criminals that must be found. Any questions?”

None were asked.

“Good. Now, there’s a lot of writing you all have to do. Get to it.”

The three commanders left the room, Nile strode steadily away from the other lords without as much as a goodbye. Pixis was about to do the same, when Erwin grabbed his arm.

“Hmm…? Is something the matter, Erwin?”

“There’s something I wish to speak to you about.”

“Huh… can it wait… I do have things to do.”

“It regards the castle’s defense.” He explained, letting go of his arm “There’s something Levi learned.”

 

* * *

 

The scout commander led the soldier to his quarters, in one of the houses he was staying at, in the noble district. They sat at the table, accompanied by sunlight, wine and temporary silence. Erwin had discarded his uniform, favoring more casual clothes.

Before any questions were asked, Erwin handed Pixis the report from Levi for the older commander to read. One hour was spent on convincing on older man of the existence of mythological creatures and overcoming the shock of the newfound information. But, eventually, upon being reminded of his duties by the younger soldier, of having to fight any enemy for their realm in order to protect their people, he laughed bitterly and drank greedily from his wine. He breathes in satisfaction, rudely setting down the cup, then breathing in deeply before speaking again.

“Why didn’t you bring this up during the meeting?”

He blinks, as if the answer is obvious “What do you think would have happened to me if I had brought this up to the High Constable?”

“If you presented him the letter, I doubt he would have handed you to the Inquisition.”

“Imagine the load of work that would impose… convincing him, Nile and his branch, any soldier who hasn’t witnessed these monsters, the church… the time I would waste on writing letters and persuading I could be using on preparing a defense.” He relaxes on his seat “No. I would rather expose this and my plan to you and then offer a much vaguer version to our High Constable. And then, when the army arrives, the monsters will be there for everyone to see and no one will be called a lunatic.”

Pixis squints his eyes in amusement, chuckling.

“You’re insane.”

“I prefer the term _gambler_.”

“And what are you betting on? That Zacklay will accept your plan?”

“No. That it succeeds.”

He huffs, shaking his head, still amused at his logic “He’ll kill you after he knows you tricked him.”

He shrugs casually “So be it. Levi is more than capable of taking over the Legion; no matter how much he would hate that.”

He nods slowly “So what’s your plan, after all?”

The blonde smirked. He stood, walking away, following a hallway and entering his quarters. When he returned, he had a large, old piece of paper in his hands. He placed it atop the table, facing the old Commander.

“A map…?” his eyes fell instantly on the drawn, black lines along the sheet “Of…?”

“Sina. And surroundings.”

“Ah…” he coughed “Forgive me, Commander. You’re drawings are horrible.”

“I am… well aware of that.”

He hummed. With a more careful look, he could make out the familiar locations of the terrain: the city, a square on the right side of the sheet of paper, with the main road connecting smaller squares, which he could recognize as being other castles or cities, like the Reiss Manor, to the South of Sina, Shadis’s castle, to the southwest, and Stohess, directly west of Shadis’ castle. Northwest of Sina, still a considerable distance away in the paper, was the forest, covering a large area of the map.

“Okay… so… here,” he pointed to the western part of the forest “is where the army is?”

“According to Levi, yes.”

“Are they moving?”

“They seem to be making the final preparations before the assault.”

“You’re keeping scouts there, then?”

“Yes.”

He sighs “And they have numerous warriors, horses, twenty catapults… trolls… _goblins_ … and Levi suspects they’re keeping another creature inside a tent. A big one, he explains.”

“Correct again.”

Pixis scratches his cheek “So what did you concoct?”

He moistens his throat before speaking “We retreat the army, as Zacklay instructed, but instead of stocking it all inside the city, we set camp here,” he points directly east to the forest, just outside of the woods and nearby Sina.

Pixis is listening patiently and attentively, a loose fist in front of his mouth.

“From where the army is, and considering their numbers, it will take them a full week before they reach Sina. That is the time we have to prepare the defenses of the castle, as well as the ground force I had mentioned earlier. All wounded and archers will be inside the walls, this means the vanguard force will be composed solely of cavalry. Led by Levi, Mike and Lieutenant Ian and his squad.”

He paused to see if Pixis opposed himself to the idea of his Lieutenant belonging in the vanguard. He did not.

“During this week, although, Hanji and her squad will ride towards Shadis’s castle.” He traced the long route with his finger.

Pixis eyes fell on Erwin’s, narrowed and questioning.

“She will lead a scouting mission with the trainees.”

 

* * *

 

Four days later, the Civilized Men’s army had retreated from the claustrophobic forest to greet the sun and cloudy sky, setting camp where Erwin had instructed.

With the aid of a few persuasive words, his defense proposal had been accepted by Zacklay. Also, has initially planned, the strategy he offered had a lot of missing details he had so wittily disguised.

Nonetheless, the wounded were getting proper treatment on their battle wounds from the numerous doctors, with various herbs and tools at their disposal.

Doctors said that Nanaba’s knee was healing swimmingly, but advised the purchase of a proper prosthetic, rather than the mediocre one Mike had crafted for her. Which she wore proudly, despite the ugly design, a very poorly sculpted half-leg.

She was now fully recovered, though she still needed to get used to being able to only bend one leg.

She found herself practicing her marksmanship often, in order to participate in the defense. She clearly remembered Mike ordering her to rest; but she had never been one to wait instead of acting.

Outside, the soldiers found themselves being nibbled by creeping anxiety of the battle to come, as well as exhaustion, a profound wish for an end to this ordeal. This feeling was amplified by a castle’s closure just next to them, one that duty just didn’t allow.

But it was said duty that motivated them, as well as promises of beer and returning home, possibilities only granted by victory. So most soldiers found themselves pumped with adrenaline, although there were the occasional nervous and pessimistic cases, but Levi, Mike and Ian provided with effective motivation.

News of the regicide and the army had arrived Shadis and his trainees, but the mission involving the youngsters was still unknown to them.

If Armin knew of this, his current thoughts would be much, much different. He feared for his life at the eminence of a siege, so close to him, and couldn’t help brainstorming over the consequences of kingless kingdom.

But what really troubled him was this familiar face, in this poster, in his hands.

He was surrounded by the peaceful silence of his room, small strips of daylight penetrating the shadowed area through the semi-closed curtains, sitting on the uncomfortable cushion of his bunk bed, back and shoulders hunched tiredly, body absent of energy, his slender, pale fingers gently holding the poster.

It had been a while.

Five days… a week… he couldn’t really remember the exact date.

But her figure… that would be hard for him to forget.

The sharp angles of her face, the blonde hair shadowed by her hood, the round arc of the bridge of her nose and, especially, her piercing-blue eyes. He didn’t even stop to think that he could remember such intimate details of her face.

A face that now had a name.

_‘Annie… Leonhardt…’_ he read the name bellow the sketchy lines of the drawing. The enormous scale and the blackness of the letters mocked his confused, disbelieving and, in some occult confinement, saddened mind.

_‘…Annie…’_

He liked it; simple and short, not exquisitely beautiful, but pleasant nonetheless.

_‘…Leonhardt…’_

Different. He wondered if it originated from archaic, like his own name. It was also misty, like its owner, endearing and captivating due to its unusualness.

_‘Annie Leonhardt.’_

The name echoed in his mind, a mute chant, a mocking reminder of his unrealistic perception.

He felt so naïve… so childish… immediately depicting a girl, whose name he didn’t even know, as a good person. She had appeared mysterious and mistrustful, yes, but he thought that made her cautious, not antagonistic.

The last words they had traded that night surged in his memory; simple questions answered cryptically in a dismissing and, dare he say it, pessimistic way.

He sighs through his nose, lowering his head.

_‘Seems like I learned your name after all.’_

He just wasn’t expecting to read it in a wanted poster.

He let it go, setting it atop his bed, resting his elbows on his thighs, his hands heavily covering his face, massaging the tense muscles and skin. After another sigh, he allowed his hands to slide down enough to permit his eyes to open. He stared intensely at the wall.

This just sprung a lot of questions.

_‘Why did you kill him? Are you a Savage? Was it your mission… was that why you were so mad that night?’_

He furrowed heavily.

“Or are you innocent in all of this?”

And that possibility just created a lot more questions. And this time, he was determined to get his answers and not be swayed by witty comebacks and icy stares.

 

* * *

 

 

Sir Keith Shadis hugged his cloak closer to his strong body, the uniform poorly keeping the cold at bay. Winter was approaching quickly, clouds thickened in the mid-afternoon sky, dimming the sun rays, killing off their warmth.

He was walking along the walls of his castle, eyes altering between gazing at the trainees, practicing swordsmanship or hand-to-hand, or simply gathered in groups and chatting, and gazing either at the forest close by or at the blurry visage of Stohess, thirteen minutes away, if on horseback.

“Sir Keith!”

Shadis stopped upon hearing the call and the quick stepping of boots, behind him. He turned to find a weary soldier.

“Hmm?”

“Milord… Squad Leader Hanji is at the gate. She entered without permission… said it was important…”

Shadis narrowed his eyes “… Hanji…?”

“Yes, milord. A soldier directed her and her squad towards the stables, for their horses. I could accompany you, if you wish…?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll meet her myself.”

 

* * *

 

Hanji handed the reins of her horse to the hands of the expectant soldier, willing to stable the beast for her, as well as her squad members’.

When she turned, she found Shadis casually approaching them. She bowed respectfully at her superior.

“Sir Keith Shadis.”

“Hanji.” He uttered “I thought you were in the vanguard… with that army approaching.”

She looked back at him with a serious expression “Erwin ordered me here, on a mission.”

Shadis blinked in confusion “What? Why?”

“I will explain everything. But please, first, would you gather your trainees? Their participation is crucial…”

He took a step closer to the young woman, speaking in a looming voice “What for? What does Erwin want? Is he going to use the squirts as bait?”

“Well… that sure sounds like our Commander…” Hanji laughed nervously, unconsciously placing her hands in front of her body, trying to create distance between them “But milord… I said I would explain everything. Please gather the youngsters… I would rather not explain myself twice.”

Behind her, her squad watched carefully the verbal exchange between both soldiers, unsure if their leader could persuade such a tall and terrifying looking man. With the hollow expression in his eyes and wrinkles, one would think he wouldn’t budge before attaining his answers, but he proved that theory wrong by turning around, voicing for them to follow, and walking towards his courtyard.

 

* * *

 

Eren found himself enraged, his angered thoughts muting out the chatter between Marco and Jean, next to him, sitting cross-legged on the ground. They seemed relaxed, dazed by the late after-noon sun kissing their napes, exposed because they had discarded their vests and cloaks, opting for their simple shirts, sweaty and dirty due to exercising.

In his stress, the brunette found no will to train, draping himself in his cloak, scowling and trembling in anger.

Luckily, the instructor was away, so he wouldn’t headbutt him for slacking off.

All the recent events were affecting him too much. His spite for the Savages had only grown, eating him alive, making him feel useless; sitting here, instead of fighting alongside Scouts.

He didn’t understand how Marco, Jean and the others had only demonstrated ephemeral shock for the regicide and, he deduced, fear for the progression of the war. And it was beyond him how Armin managed to feel what Eren thought was sadness upon knowing the identities of the King’s killers. He was meaning to ask him about it, but Armin dismissed his questions, bolting off towards the dorms, he figured.

On the other hand, Mikasa didn’t seem to have demonstrated any sort of emotion. Perhaps a blink or a brief halt in her breathing, but no more.

That’s what surprised him the most about her, how inconsistent her emotions really were, only spawning at the most, in his opinion, inopportune moments, essentially around him, for some reason.

_‘Probably her stupid promise.’_ He pondered, allowing Mikasa to be the center of his thoughts instead of his vengeance, for a change.

Still thinking of her, he decided to glance her way, spotting her sparring against three men, way bigger and more muscular than her. He didn’t blink or gasp in surprise when she easily beat them. He actually huffed in amusement when she bent down to apologize to a guy whose nose she had broken.

Her calm, focused looking face only enhanced his amusement. Again he was intrigued by her stoicism.

She was fairly still now, seeming at loss of what to do after the other two boys had left, carrying the bleeding one with them. He stopped his thinking for a moment, recalling her strong punches and kicks, and then taking in how bored and alone she currently seemed to be. He then looked away, remembering his rage and inner turmoil.

Eren slowly blinked, making a spontaneous decision.

He stood up determinately, leaving his cloak, vest and gloves on the floor and strode away without explaining himself to neither boys.

Mikasa turned in puzzlement upon hearing the heavy footsteps, perhaps considering it had been Shadis. Her long, charcoal hair whipped the air. He noticed her face shift in puzzlement as he approached her, her eyes slightly widen and brighten, her peachy lips gently part. He did not notice he had started furrowing or that he had clenched his fists, his veins pulsing along his lean, tense arms.

Preoccupation swam in her eyes. He intensely stared, missing her feelings.

Her thin eyebrows lowered softly when he approached her.

“Eren?” she asked gently “Is something wrong?”

Once again, he bluntly pushed aside her gentleness. He didn’t want that, nor did he stop to even value it; he had never been aware of her kindness.

But he was aware of his current rage and of how to get rid of it.

“Fight me.” He growled.

All she did was blink. He didn’t understand why. It was true; he had never asked her to spar, even though she was visibly the best partner for him, being them both skilled in that area. But he had to wonder, was such a shock really necessary?

He grew impatient.

“W-what?” she abruptly asked, the control on her voice slightly fading for a brief moment.

“Spar with me.”

“I’m… I’m not going to fight you, Eren.”

“Why not?” He took a few steps closer “It’s just a spar.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to fight you…”

He furrowed deeper “And why’s that?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

He scoffed, lowering his head and relaxing his body. He looked back at her with an annoyed look replacing his angry expression “Aren’t you confident.”

She seemed stricken by his sarcastic tone and sudden shift in humor and posture, but the talented soldier in her stung at his comment, so her reply came in a stunned, dry sound.

A shadow of a smirk was visible at the corner of his mouth.

He pulled his fist back. Her eyes widened, her face paled and her being froze. The caring sister in her spoke louder than the soldier.

“Eren, wait - stop!”

He released the punch with a scream. She avoided at the last second. A barrage of lefts and rights followed; she never retaliated, only avoided. She would try to utter his name and beg for him to stop, but his strikes only allowed her to yell his name, or its initial syllables.

Suddenly, Shadis’s bellowing shout filled the courtyard - she mentally thanked her instructor for being so convenient.

Eren stopped immediately, panting, averting his eyes to their approaching instructor.

“What the hell now?” he grunted, still with clenched fists “Is that… Squad Leader Hanji?”

“Eren…”

Her strained voice caught his attention. By look in her eyes, the visit from the instructor and Squad Leader didn’t really seem to bother her.

“…what the hell was that…?!”

He replied annoyingly.

“A spar…”

“People _warn_ when they’re going to start a spar, Eren.”

He scoffed, looking away, honestly finding this argument childish from her part.

“Don’t play dumb, Mikasa. I knew you would’ve avoided the punch.”

“What if I hadn’t been looking? Or what if I had retaliated?”

Eren looked back at her, furrowing deeply “You held back?!”

“Well… yes… I told you, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He seemed appalled and enraged by her logic, sighing in exasperation, hand pressed firmly against his forehead. Suddenly, it surged on him why he had never asked to spar with her before, because he wanted to avoid arguments such as these.

In the silence that followed, he can only hear his jagged breath and the passing trainees, obeying their instructor’s recent order. Eren exasperatedly released his hand from his face, noticing amidst the crowd Jean, Marco, Connie, Sasha and Mina. Thomas must have head back to call Armin.

“Why did you even want to fight _me…_? You’ve never asked _me_ before…”

“I honestly don’t know.”

She furrows in confusion at his simple reply “Eren… did you just wanted to punch me?”

“No. Well… yes.” He scratches his head, looking back at his peers and instructor “Look; I just wanted to spar. I had a lot in my head… the regicide and the war… and I saw you with nothing to do…”

“And… it just seemed like a good idea to you….?” She tempted, approaching him, still very confused at his sudden interaction with her.

Sincerely, she was happy; even if it hadn’t been the gentlest approach from him. Perhaps he had recognized her as a challenge?

“Yeah… but look, we can talk about this later. For now, c’mon…” He rubbed his neck and wiped the dirt off of his messy hair “Shadis wants to talk to us.”

He stomped away, deducing she would tag along. She did.

 

* * *

 

Armin, interrupted in his brainstorming by Thomas, had arrived at the courtyard to quizzically watch the woman currently grinning excitingly at his peers, taking in their stony or confused expressions and their rigid posture as they waited for her speech, trying to make out what exactly was her purpose here with a war raging close by.

Behind her, her squad and Shadis watched attentively.

She inhaled deeply before starting her speech.

“Greetings, young men and women! I’m Hanji Zoe, Squad Leader in the Scouting Legion; you might’ve seen me, during the military branch presentations, when Erwin guided you to my camp.” She cheerfully greeted “I’m here under order of the aforementioned Commander. On a mission. One that requires all of you.”

Her words sprouted curiosity and eerie feelings in the youngsters’ guts. The blonde ignored these reactions in order to think properly, attempting at decrypting the meaning of the woman’s words.

“I’m sure you have heard already our king’s death, as well as the court. Those aren’t the news I bring.” She announced, adopting a more serious tone “It has been discovered that a Savage army of considerable scale is approaching Sina. Defensive precautions have already been adopted: the army retreated close to the city and siege engines are armed and ready. This information has also been made public.”

Armin wasn’t shocked by the imminent assault. He had always predicted, based on what he heard about the progression of the war, that sieges would eventually occur.

“We know the army is camping on the west region of the forest. Our scouts learned that it is composed of at least twenty thousand warriors, thirty catapults and… a few… additional forces.”

Armin couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows in doubt at the Squad Leader’s choice of words. She faltered in her speech, she averted her sight.

_‘She’s hiding something.’_

But what? And why? She’s about to plunge _trainees_ , into a life-threatening mission, wording it like this made Armin shiver upon the realization, but still, he couldn’t help but wonder about the woman as she purposely concealed information.

“The army, camping close to Sina, will act as a vanguard force, covered by our archers and trebuchets, on the walls. But, in order to get the upper hand on this battle, it is imperative that we learn exactly of what composes their forces. Weapons, types of warriors and numbers. That is the first objective in our mission: recon.”

Armin brought a hand up to his mouth, digits pressing his cheeks.

_‘Commander Erwin is being opportunistic. He’s sending us on a mission, not only for the benefit of the war but also in order to further persuade us, in some radical manner, into joining his ranks.’_

But this left room for questions.

_‘Why trainees? Is he planning to leave the experienced soldiers in the vanguard? Is he so desperate to know what he’s fighting that he would be willing to risk_ trainees _on a scouting mission?’_

Hanji’s words echoed in his mind _“…additional forces.”_

_‘Just what is the Commander afraid of?!’_

“The second objective will be to sabotage the catapults. I’ll know how once we get there. As you can deduce, if we nullify their siege weapons, it won’t be much of a siege, now will it?” she snickered “Once these two objectives are complete, we’ll ride towards the vanguard force with the information and enhance our defenses based on that. Any questions?”

Most would agree that it was quite the stupid question; what would one have once he was rudely and abruptly warned that he would enter war soon, no matter he’s young age and inexperience?

The instructor decided to ask a crucial question in the scared, young adults’ place “When will they be parting?”

Hanji‘s eyes widened, shock evident in her jovial face for a second, before she carelessly laughed and replied “I’ll know when to leave. Be ready to set off at any hour.”

_‘… what do you mean ‘you’ll know when to leave’…?’_

Armin couldn’t help but look warily at the Squad Leader and her secrets. The more she talked, the more questions he had – which led to a growth in his fear. The dreading idea of waiting for a suicide mission where nothing was entirely clear made his eyes water. Annie would have kicked his shins at his weakness; this would be his future if he were to join the Scouting Legion, he really shouldn’t act so cowardly.

His peers seemed to be as scared and confused as he was; some angrier than others at how cryptic and absurd the Commander’s orders were, while others simply listened calmly and accepted said orders unquestioningly.

“If there are no more question, then, young men and women, I can do nothing more than to deeply apologize for this sudden request and beg that you stay strong. War has come… and we need your help.”

She held her hands behind her back, straightening it, speaking clearly and with a serious tone, the cheerful and maniacal glint absent from her eyes. One would wonder about her constant mood swings.

“Once we start; it won’t matter what path you wanted to take… Scouting Legion, Garrison, Military Police… forget all of that. Once we ride together… we won’t be scouts… or pawns… or knights.”

She took a step closer.

“We’ll just be soldiers.”

 

* * *

 

_…Nine days later…_

Beatrix’s quarters’ doors creaked close, the lock being set in place with a silent, metallic whisper. Her guards were outside, vigilant in the dead-stillness of the stone hallways, illuminated only by torchlight.

Once inside, alone amidst expensive, dark brown furniture, rouge and white decorative colors and silence, she undressed herself and put on her nightgown, letting down her straight hair cascading down her back in a platinum-gold waterfall.

Frendel wasn’t present.

She knew why.

Beatrix set her dress atop the bed, white-satin sheets neatly arranged and free of creases, as if they had never been used. She then strode quietly towards a table, set in a corner of the room, and retrieved from one of the drawers her journal, a small notebook with an old, dusty, leather cover, gracious and neat handwriting filling the beige pages.

She sat, opening the journal on the page occupied with her most recent entry. She wetted the tip of a goose feather on black ink and set it on the blank space beneath the letters, scribbling today’s date.

She left a small space between the date and what she was about to write, face serene, ghastly eyes peaceful and focused, plump lips slightly parted as the tip of the feather accurately scratched the page.

_‘The young man Ymir had wounded died today. I gave the order to finish him; a life condemned to a bed would be his future if I hadn’t. It was a merciful act.’_

She stopped to ponder after drawing the final letter, eyes looking upwards.

_‘Also… he knew of Ymir. He was too hallucinated by pain and fear to pinpoint that she was, indeed, the werewolf. But he had seen her. He could endanger her… and Historia. He had to go.’_

She stopped, circling the feather in her fingers. She set it back down with a gentle smile.

_‘Ymir seems to have accepted my request, even if she didn’t give me a straight answer. She doesn’t leave Historia’s side. If it’s because of what I asked… or for more personal reasons… I don’t know. She’s quite the vixen… hard to distinguish the good from the mischievous at times. But… I’ve seen good in her… when she’s with Historia... all the thoughts she crafts seem genuine…’_

Beatrix tilts her head and secures blonde strands behind her ear. She closes her eyes for a minute, setting down the feather on the smooth wood. She reopens them to write.

_‘They’re currently in the library. Ymir is mocking Historia of the book she’s reading and she’s laughing and retorting… despite...’_

She sighs. Another paragraph.

_‘Everything has been set in motion…the assassination was a success… the army is in place… all pieces are atop the board; the players must only start the game. Stohess will fall first… and amidst the ashes and fire, death will come, roaring and flying. The Savages, numbered in thousands, accompanied by their beasts, will mercilessly obliterate everything in their path… my husband made sure to assure our safety, but still… it’s hard not to wonder about all the innocents that will be slaughtered. That have already been slaughtered.’_

She closes her eyes longingly, breathing steadily. In an ethereal push, a light and gentle force, her mind floats through the hallways and stairways until it arrives at the library. She feels no other presences aside from the familiar one from her daughter and the feral one from Ymir.

She feels them still sitting, close together, huddled near a heavy book.

Suddenly, Beatrix briefly wonders why doesn’t the brunette search for information, regarding her condition, on these books. The woman knows Ymir probably can’t read, considering her obvious humble roots, but is it really so shameful to ask Historia for help?

Nonetheless, her mind returns to the pair. Not only can she feel their presence, she hears their words, too.

_“There, finished.”_

_“Can we leave now?”_

_“Sure.”_

_“I’m surprised you don’t want to read some more.”_

_“… I’m tired.”_

Both women spotted the lie. Only one understood it; it made her shudder – it was the reason why Frendel wasn’t in the room with her.

It was that time, again.

_“Okay, then. Let’s go.”_

Historia hums in agreement, following behind the tall brunette. Ymir seems wary near the thoughtful blonde, wondering why she was spacing out so often, that day. Beatrix doesn’t remember if Ymir had already interrogated her about it or is simply trying to figure out by herself.

_‘Well…’_ Beatrix thought _‘…one day she’s bound to learn. Historia’s secret. Frendel’s secret. This house’s secret.’_

_‘My secret.’_

_“So… hmm...”_ Historia mumbles hesitantly, capturing Beatrix’s attention once again _“Goodnight… Ymir… I’ll see you tomorrow…?”_

_“What’s wrong with you?”_ Ymir apparently had had enough of the heiress’s mysticism.

_“Nothing.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yes. Really.”_

_“Really?”_ she sarcastically repeated _“You do know that I’m supposed to escort you to your room. Or have you forgotten?”_

Beatrix felt Historia hold her breath _“I… know my way to my room.”_

_“… what the fuck, Historia?”_

The blonde widens her eyes at the rudeness spat her way. Ymir doesn’t waver, she seems to have reached her boiling point regarding questions and mysteries of this house. Beatrix almost pities her, being lunged into a world like this.

_“The hell’s wrong with you?!”_

_“N-nothing…”_

_“Stop lying.”_

_“I’m not lying! I’m… I… feel sick. I don’t want you to see me like this.”_

She was lying again; but this time, Ymir didn’t see it. She took a step forward.

_“How sick?”_

_“My head hurts… and my body does, too. I feel very tired.”_

If she picked up the third lie or just ignored it, Beatrix didn’t know.

_“You’re ashamed because of that? Seriously…”_

_“Ah… hmm… I’m sorry…?”_ she attempted a nervous laugh.

She chuckles, shaking her head _“Whatever, squirt. Night.”_

She turns and starts walking away.

_“Goodnight, Ymir.”_

Beatrix follows Ymir for a few minutes, checking if she had intentions of following the young blonde. The brunette merely followed the route to the servant’s dorms. The blonde woman then tracked her daughter, seeing that she was walking slowly, her face pale with fear. When she arrived at her room, her father was already there.

_“Good evening, Historia. Where have you been?”_

His voice is raspy, speaking volumes in its calculated and cold, whispered tone, scratching the insides of her mind. She doesn’t the mind the fact that he can probably feel her eavesdropping.

_“Good evening, father.”_

_“Shall we start?”_

Historia’s heart quickens. Her eyes start to water, her blue irises seeming like miniscule lakes bathed in sun rays.

_“F-father… please…”_

But her pleads have never worked before. There is no reason to work tonight.

_“Hush, child. You know I do this for your own good.”_

Beatrix shuts away the connection, reopening her eyes widely, feeling her hair uncomfortably stick to her sweaty nape. Every breath she takes is long and cherished.

She can’t manage the will to write the last paragraph she had had in mind.

These times always put her incredibly stressed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep; then again, she rarely did.

One of the consequences of her… _gift_.


	8. Contact

Two weeks after the army’s discovery, it left the forest, leading itself by the main road towards Sina.

Stohess was the first victim.

The Garrison didn’t even have time to sound the alarm. Fire balls rained from the quiet night sky, destroying the city’s walls and burning its houses, taverns and shops, any unfortunate souls nearby were crushed under debris or burnt alive.

After the walls had been breached, warriors and riders rushed inside, their battle cries filling the air. The soldiers helplessly tried to repel the bloodthirsty men, but were made easy prey under such numeric disadvantage.

Gashes, crushed bones and arrows decorated flesh. The warriors ran through the chaotic streets in hollering laughter, stomping over severed limbs, their boots splashing over the dense pools of blood, or carelessly stepping over the dead. Horses trampled men and women in their riders’ lust for violence. Civilians feebly tried to hide inside their barricaded houses, only for the men to be slaughtered and the women to be raped and enslaved, their children slaves, too - the only mercy the Free People offered.

Hanji Zoe watched from the window of her quarters the orange and yellow hues, only able to imagine the destruction and slaughter.

She was standing fairly still, hand loosely in front of her pursed lips, her elbow resting on her other arm, set across her abdomen. She was only wearing a light brown, long shirt that reached the middle of her thighs. Her hair was loose, seeming as messy as it usually does in her pony tail.

The door opens without a polite knock. Hanji doesn’t mind.

“Squad Leader…” Keiji, a tall brunette with salient cheekbones called once he had partially opened the door and peered inside. He seems slightly out of breath, maybe from running all the distance towards her room, skipping stairs and sprinting through hallways.

“… Stohess has fallen.” He says, unnecessarily.

She drags her voice in a whisper, “I know.”

Keiji waits for her to elaborate. She knows she should speak, detail her orders at her subordinate and _lead_. Initiate the mission she had been entrusted with. But all she can do for a long minute is simply space out, wasting precious time with mindless, worthless indulgence.

It’s not every day she gets to lead a group this big, after all. It’s not every day she’s entrusted with such a suicidal mission. One she’s not even entirely sure how to complete. How the hell is she going to destroy the catapults?

Or kill whatever’s inside that tent?

Does Erwin even want her to kill it? Is there even anything to kill in there?

And how is she going to ensure the safety of all the kids?

And how-

“Squad Leader. Your orders.”

It takes Keiji’s words for Hanji to realize her unprofessionalism.

“Is the rest of the squad awake?”

“Nifa is. On watch, close to the Lord-Baron.”

“Shadis has certainly seen this and is probably ordering the trainees to wake.” She says, then turns to him “Wake the rest of the squad. Ready our horses. Help the trainees with anything they need.”

He nods “Yes, milady.” And then takes his leave.

Hanji’s eyes linger on the city again for a brief moment. She sighs, dropping her hands to her hips, cussing tiredly, before padding along the dark room towards her gear.

 

* * *

 

The trainees were rudely awoken with adamant shouts from their superiors, ordered to head to the barracks, gear up and then ready a horse.

Aside from the obvious stress, nervousness and fear were other emotions swimming through the trainees’ minds, crippling their lines of thought, plaguing it with worse case scenarios and horrific imagery of blood and gore from battle.

Mikasa was a different case altogether, keeping her cool even in a situation that was so new to her. Only two things were currently worrying her, even though it wasn’t very apparent.

She was striding past her peers, uncaring to their nervous monologues, despaired cries or uncontrolled vomiting in some corner. Her grey eyes were fixed ahead, her dark hair and tattered cloak swayed with every certain thud of her leather boots. Her old, maroon scarf was tight against her neck. The leather armor, with studded shoulder guards and vest, much like all the other armor sets the castle provided, fit her well, offering agility when it lacked in protection. Her katanas were strapped to her belt.

She reached the courtyard, her eyes scanning the area, searching for Eren and Armin.

She saw Thomas sitting cross-legged against a wall, Mina crouching in front of him, holding his hand, whispering softly.

She saw Sasha ranting quickly and pessimistically with wide eyes, failing to keep her arrows in her hands, often clumsily letting them fall. Connie was with her, mocking her light-heartedly, despite the nervousness in his eyes.

And then she heard a loud thud of a body being pushed against a wall. She turned her head in that direction and found Eren, frowning and muttering angrily with his hands gripping Jean’s hood, the taller boy snarling and scowling too.

She approached them.

“Shut up,” Eren growled “Just shut up. You have more important things to worry about than that.”

“Get off of me.”

“I will, once I see that my words have sunk in.”

“Don’t school _me_ , you asshole!”

Droplets of spit flew past Jean’s teeth, colliding with Eren’s cheeks. He ignored them, pulling the fabric tighter and intensifying his gaze.

“Then stop acting like an idiot! I don’t care if you wanted to join the Police and sit on your ass all day, like the miserable shit you are. _This_ is what you trained for! You should have known something like this was bound to happen when you entered, no matter your motives, so stop acting like a fucking coward and man up!”

“Eren, let go of him!”

Mikasa saw Marco dashing towards them, appearing from the darkness of a hallway. The eastern girl couldn’t figure why she hadn’t tried to intervene yet, too. Perhaps for curiosity at the outcome of this situation.

“Listen Jean,” Eren growled, not distracted by Marco’s distressed call “You will pull yourself together. This is bigger than your selfish wish to join the Police; this is war. The city’s in danger, it needs all the help it can get – _yours included._ We’ll finish this shit, and then you can join your fucking Police.”

For a silent second, they merely stared, both boy’s arrogance and frowns unfading.

Jean’s snarling and glowering progressively diminished.

Marco, unbeknownst to the mutual, silent agreement, didn’t lower his running speed, tackling Eren with his shoulder with controlled strength.

Mikasa widened her eyes, shocked for witnessing, for the first time, Eren and Jean make amends, as well as for witnessing Marco’s aggression. She immediately approached her brother’s side, who had huffed and stepped back due to the tackle.

Marco pulled Jean by the arm, eying the brunette warily “I-I’m sorry… I saw no other way…”

Eren shook his head, seeming nonchalant “You’re fine. Just make sure to keep him in check.”

Jean only stared at the tanned boy, a shadow of a frown on his face.

“Will do. We have to go now, to ready our horses. You should too!” he said quickly, tugging Jean “See you guys later!”

“Yeah.” He nodded, watching as he darted off, towards the same hallway he had come from, carrying an annoyed, complaining Jean. He turned to the eastern girl beside him “You heard him, let’s go.”

She heard the words but did not register them, her collected and focused demeanor lifting, being replaced by the over-protective sister.

“Eren,” she called, voice a raspy mix of gentleness, worry and command “Out there, stay close to me.”

A low, disbelieving vowel was emitted from his throat. He frowned.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’ll be dangerous out there; I’ll protect you.”

He groaned tiredly, bringing a hand to his face “Mikasa… not you too…”

“I mean it Eren. It will be very dangerous. People are going to die or get hurt and I’m not about to let anything happen-“

He shut her up by roughly grabbing her shoulders, fingers digging into the cloak and armor, his eyes like green and turquoise fire. On instinct, she protectively brought her arms to her chest, falling immediately silent and still, like a frail doll in his control.

“Mikasa, we don’t have time for this!”

She only managed to blink rapidly at his shout, looking at him with careful, wide eyes, taking in the large and angered jade orbs, under such a trance of his stare that she didn’t even feel his rough touch.

She saw his face come so, so much closer.

She could count the stripes in his irises, or name all the tones of green. She could feel his breath, warm with frustration, against her nose and cheekbones.

“Pull your shit together. You’re the best one here - you shouldn’t worry about _me_ ; you should worry about _everyone_.”

She swallowed, fighting to keep his gaze and not feel affected by their current closeness, so foreign to her.

He only spared her cloudy eyes a few more seconds, making sure her over-protectiveness was under control before pulling away and looking around him, sighing, “Since when did I turn into the voice of reason…?”

Mikasa was still feeling a tingling, fiery sensation across her face before a rush of realization befell on her, making her blink in slim bewilderment, wondering why she was only thinking of this now.

Eren was just a few hours away from facing Savages.

She looked back up at him, seeing him worriedly scanning the courtyard. She unconsciously brought her fingers to her scarf, bringing it up to her nose as she closed her eyes, feeling horrid memories ricochet inside her head.

_Blood pooling the ground, painting the walls and furniture, drenching clothes. Plate fragments and food remains littered the floor, wine spilled from the cracked jar. Barbaric cackling filled the heavy air. Young, squeezed hearts thundered from fear, pain and rage._

_Mikasa whimpered, her fat tears mixing in with the blood pouring from the cut on her cheek._

_Eren felt his blood on fire, consuming him, cursing him, his eyes were wide, bloodshot with hatred and tears._

_With a voice tone unknown to him, the fourteen year old boy roared._

“Huh, Mikasa…? Are you coming…”

Eren, twenty years old, tall, broad, tanned and relaxed, asked her curiously “… or not…?”

She blinked, lowering the scarf before replying a rapid “Yeah, of course.”

He didn’t ask her why did she space out all of a sudden, or why was there so much worry suddenly, glimmering in her eyes. She didn’t mention her memories, or ask to where exactly was she going.

She was just thinking of that night. Thinking of Eren.

Eren had experienced the darkest emotions in his heart that night.

Heartbreak, sorrow, rage, self-loathing… wrenching feelings we keep locked inside a box, but keep the key in our guilty hands.

Eren opened the box that night, assaulted by his mother’s screams and gasps and pleads, his father’s broken promises as he struggled to keep consciousness, even with that axe digging into his spine.

And so Eren, a small, sobbing, crying and screaming, reckless orphan, blindly lunged at his parents’ killers, armed only with his bony fists and his rage. Mikasa had tried to help, if only just to protect her brother, or to die by his side. She doesn’t remember which one was it.

The Garrison arrived before the Savages could kill the children.

A miracle.

This time, Mikasa knew no such miracle would happen if Eren lost it again to his rage.

Aside from her, at least.

So, she _would_ protect him. No matter what he says or wants or does. She won’t lose her family a third time. She already has enough nightmares.

 

* * *

 

Hanji eyed the sword in her hand both analytically and neutrally.

She tested the grip, twirling the weapon in her fingers. She analyzed it from various angles. She, then, gave a few trial swings. Without changing her expression, she gave it back to Keith, in front of her, dressing casual clothes and a cloak, who grabbed it and gave it back to one of the soldiers accompanying him. The soldier sheathed the blade.

“Well?” Keith inquired.

Hanji rested her hands on her hips and looked back at the baron “They’re great. For peeling potatoes.”

The instructor snorted. The soldier’s pride hurt.

“I’m serious. They’re total shit. You can tell they aren’t used much. Their armors are shit, too.”

“A scout could go to battle with a shirt and a fork and he’d be well equipped for his task.” He murmured darkly.

“I know, I know… in scouting missions you are supposed to avoid battle. But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She said, then added in an audible whisper “Especially in this case…”

He hummed. They fell silent, hugging their cloaks.

The rest of the trainees pooled outside of the castle, some riding their horses, testing the beasts, others leading it by the reins.

“They’re scared.” She noted dryly.

“You’re scared, too.”

She turned quickly to look up at him, her brown ponytail wiping the air “Yeah, for them.”

“Is it your first time leading such a big group?”

“Yes.” Her eyes trailed back to her small army “You don’t want to come and help me? I could use the advice…”

He snorted; a simple, guttural, almost mocking, note of laughter “No… I have my own big group to lead.”

“Your castle will be fine.” She promised, deducing correctly that that was what he had referred to “The army is focused on Sina.”

“I’m not sure of that.”

She nods “I understand. I would have done the same.”

He snorts again, turning to her “No you wouldn’t have.”

“Huh…?”

“Or rather you would; if by defending a castle you could be in the vanguard. You’re too impulsive, Hanji.”

She laughs “I have no idea of what you’re talking about, milord…”

“Sure you do.” He said, tilting his head, furrowing his eyebrows as a small smirk adorned his thin, chapped lips “Hanji Zoe, daughter of a baron, could have had a simple, wealthy and safe life, but opted for the military instead. Isn’t that impulsive, milady?”

She blinks once, forming an ‘o’ with her mouth, mimicking his tilt, looking like a curious puppy. She then, quite suddenly, scoffs before entering a fit of laughter. Keith’s miniscule smirk vanishes, morphing into a very confused and annoyed frown; the instructor still had to grow accustomed to the woman’s mood swings.

Hanji’s laughs die down to giggles and then to a happy sigh.

“The hell was that?” he barks.

She smiles up at him “You’re the first person to smear the truth in my face like that.”

“Ah.”

She brings a hand to her chin, raising an eyebrow, “Second, actually.”

“Is that so?”

She nods “The first was Levi. You know… the clean-freak? Sort of a prick? About - this - height?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know him.” He waved her off “I also know he’s quite poorly humored.”

“No kidding.”

By the simplicity and honesty of her answer, Keith figured she was acquainted with the man.

They heard trotting of a horse coming in their direction. Atop the animal, Moblit, a young brunette, bowed his head when he halted his horse.

“Milord, milady.” He announced hastily “The trainees are ready.”

Hanji howled, stretching her arms to the sky with clenched fists “ _Fi-na-lly!_ ”

Keith brought a hand to his face “Please, Hanji, take this seriously. You have a bunch of _kids_ in your hands.”

“Milady…” Moblit pleaded.

“Oh, cheer up you two. Everything is going to be fine; we’re just going out on a walk… with swords…! Now, c’mon Moblit! Put a smile on that face! And you,” she turned to the baron with a pointed finger “go get laid or something. Have your 17th son. I’ll be back soon – with _all_ the kids.”

She climbed on top of Moblit’s horse, wrapping her arms around his waist. Keith was having mixed feelings between correcting her about the number of his offspring and hoping for the best of her mission. He couldn’t help but wonder if she were even worried about the large numbers under her command, the poor quality of the equipment, the inexperience…

He grunted, ignoring his worries, hugging his cloak tighter around himself. He felt something inside the pocket of his vest. His face lit up, he almost forgot.

“Hanji!” he desperately shouted “Hey, Hanji!”

Moblit tugged on the reins, halting the horse, turning the beast towards the man, marching their way. On one of his hands, he held a thick scroll.

“Keep this.” He ordered, handing the woman the wrinkled parchment “It may prove useful.”

The brunette curiously accepted the scroll, fingers prodding the old material, “What’s this?”

“A list. Of the trainees. It may help you organize yourself.” He explained. His eyes shifted to the distance, a glimmer of uncertainty skimming past his dark, intimidating eyes. He hid it by lowering his head, sighing, before looking back up at the Squad Leader with the usual steel glare,

“Now, go.”

 

* * *

 

They rode for thirty minutes in Stohess’s direction, stopping ten minutes away from the smoking city, hiding the 104th in a valley, under the cover of hills and trees.

Night still prevailed, the clouds, thin grey sheets, dimming the light of the moon and stars, speckling the sky. The wind whispered against leaves, bushes and grass, its whistle making the flames from Stohess dance occasionally. Crickets and howls sang a soft tune.

Hanji paid no mind to Nature though, preferring to organize her camp after tethering her horse.

“You guys, can I trust you with ensuring a perimeter?” she asked at a group of sensibly twenty trainees. Sasha was included. The youngsters eyed her silently, feeling like they really had no say in the matter.

“Climb on the trees. You’re on watch duty.”

Some of them stuttered replies, others didn’t answer. Sasha merely widened her eyes.

“Look, it’s not particularly hard. You just have to find a sturdy branch that can offer cover and safety, keep your hoods on, stay quiet and shoot anything that looks like a lunatic.” She instructed calmly.

“Y-yes, milady!” one answered, very tempted to answer _‘Like you?’_ instead.

“Good. Scatter yourselves on an arc, surrounding the camp.”

They hurried off. Hanji looked analytically to the remaining trainees, hand on her chin, stepping slowly. Suddenly, she pointed to a young red-head.

“You. And you… and you. And you and you.” She selected “Come with me.”

“Hm… milady, what for?” a girl asked.

Hanji was already walking off, setting her hood on her head “To scout. Keiji, you’re in charge. I’ll be right back.”

The five trainees eyed each other awkwardly, before Hanji’s squad member barked a command, making them hurry off after the tall woman. Those in earshot, including the five members of Hanji’s squad, figured the woman had preferred bringing five trainees, instead of her squad, to offer them some firsthand scouting experience.

The remaining trainees found themselves with spare time, but no exact clue on how to spend it, aside from spacing off.

 

* * *

 

They were just five minutes away from Stohess. It was a mess, littered with charred wood and debris. Fires were still lit on a few buildings, their windows broken and dirty with ash, blood and dirt, holes on their subdued walls, if they hadn’t crumbled entirely.

“Climb up here,” Hanji commanded, pointing to a fallen, easily climbable watchtower belonging to a barely standing segment of the cities’ walls.

The kids climbed, one boy ahead, the others mimicking where he stepped and grabbed. Hanji stayed behind, watchful, gripping her bow with an arrow ready, three others on her bow hand. After they had all reached the top floor, she quickly scanned the area one last time, before scaling the dusty bricks herself.

She joined the trainees, sprawled on the ground, looking through the tower’s battlements.

Warriors could be seen asleep against some wall or lying in the ground, empty mugs or bottles close to their feet. Others were awake, in the company of their comrades, feasting on Stohess food, beer and women. Others patrolled the streets or walked along the remnants of walls and watchtowers. No warrior could be seen close to Hanji’s tower, except for the group of five, directly beneath them, talking and drinking.

Trolls and goblins, small and old looking creatures, dressed in rags, with dark green skin, yellow eyes and pointy ears, were also present in the city, the impish hooligans causing mischief in their wake, the beefy beasts accompanying them drowsily, if they weren’t asleep and snoring.

The Squad Leader had to contain her awed and excited expressions, biting back fits of giggles or rants, whereas the trainees demonstrated emotions she had seen so, so many times before.

Tears they hid or couldn’t hide, breaths they imprisoned in their stunned lungs, limbs shaking, teeth clattering, blood racing and heart drumming against their bones and flesh… weakness - pure and raw, caused by fear, enhanced by disbelief.

Again, precious minutes were wasted as the trainees asked pointless questions about the monsters, but Hanji had already undergone far too many situations, similar to this one; her rhetorical skills had gone dull with overuse. Now, she let people overcome their own shocks.

And when they did, she was quick to command “Now, would you all kindly _scout_ …?” she said, halting their thoughts, forcing them to focus.

Squinting their eyes tighter, they spotted rows of tents farther in the distance, a much bigger one closer to the city. Pyres and large fires lit the camp of the resting army, uncaring of the smoke columns rising towards the sky or the dazzling flames easily exposing their army to nearby civilization.

“There are the catapults, milady!” the boy next to Hanji was quick to announce in a whisper, pointing towards thirty siege weapons, parked in a plain terrain, illuminated by pyres but without patrolling warriors. They were stationed clumsily, various wagons, ones with boulders, others with unlabeled barrels, in the center of the area.

“Yes, yes… I see them…” she barely did, though, the siege engines were a sketchy, blurry visage for her tired sight “… any ideas on how to destroy them?”

“Huh… we-hmm… burn them?”

She smiled, “I like your way of thinking! What’s your name, boy?”

“F-Franz.”

“Alright, F-Franz, hear me out. I think I’ve got a plan…”

The boy, softening his gaze and growing anxious under the woman’s ludicrous excited stare, ignored her joke and waited for her to explain.

“You see those?” she asked, pointing towards the barrels “I bet those are filled with oil.”

He furrowed nervously “How can you be so sure, milady?”

Hanji looked back at the boy incredulously.

“Huh? What else could it be? I mean, have you seen all of these flames?!” she said dramatically “I don’t think the Savages rained torches on Stohess, no, they coated the boulders with oil and set them aflame – a simple siege strategy, I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Franz bit back a roll of his eyes.

She smirks mischievously “We could use that oil to destroy the catapults… no!” glee filled her features as she excitedly murmured “We could destroy the entire army! Steal enough oil barrels, paint the land black… and then… with archers on the back… shooting ignited arrows... we’d set everything on fire! We’d save Sina from a Siege! We could save many, many lives!”

She paused for them to assess her reasoning, which they hardly could, none of her words seemed to make any sense on the startled trainees, making them only able to stare agape. She used the opportunity to ponder on her strategy more thoroughly, furrowing her thin eyebrows in concentration.

“But 370 trainees are too many people for me to maneuver in a confined space such as that one.” She added matter-of-factly “We’ll have to split up. Into groups of fifty, maybe… each group will be led by one of my squad members… one will eventually be led by me…”

The trainees merely stared.

For the next ten minutes, Hanji made one of her spontaneous, curious actions she was so notorious for, speaking only to herself, refusing to grant her trainees the attention they craved. From a parchment she snatched from her pocket, and using a segment of one of her arrows she cut and sharpened with her knife, she drew a map using ash. Of course the material wasn’t the best, but it was what she could manage.

When she finished, she sighed happily and in contentment, “There!”

The trainees’ attention was back on her.

“Okay, here’s how it’s going to go…” she placed the map in a position visible to all.

It consisted of a large square, Stohess, an equally large hexagon sensibly in front of the square, the big tent, three long rows of circles - the warrior tents - and, in the middle, thirty rectangles - the catapults. The map was also divided into six different areas: two in the catapult region, three in the tents and the last being the large tent. They were numbered. There were folded parchments, numbered as well, atop their respective areas.

Parchments Hanji had cut off, with her knife, from the trainee list, a scroll she drew from her pockets, mumbling something like “ _Who knew this would’ve come in handy…?”_

Fifty names in every group, except for one, containing the remaining seventy.

There were also names written in the areas. Known to them, they could read _‘Me’,_ probably Hanji, _‘Moblit’, ‘Keiji’_ and, to their utmost surprise, _‘Mikasa Ackerman’_.

Before they could ask her about this, the Squad Leader started explaining.

“First, three groups will infiltrate the catapult areas to steal the oil barrels, at least five per group. Two groups belong in that area, the third group has the objective of delivering the barrels to the three groups assigned to the tent areas.” She explained, speaking evenly this time, though still with a special glint in her eyes.

“This third group has two options, either scurry back and ride outside of the camp, away from warriors, and then meet up with the tree groups waiting here,” she dragged her finger along the three segments of map dedicated to the tent areas “all the time carrying the barrels.”

She studied their attentive expressions for two seconds.

“ _Or_ , they can travel this oblique path, infiltrating deeper into the camp and meeting up with the waiting groups in the tent area.” This time, her finger crossed the distance in the map from the catapult areas to their oblique opposite “Quicker, but more dangerous.”

They stared in silence.

“But do not worry, you will not be alone in this. The tent groups will have the objective of silently clear the area, so to facilitate the barrel smuggling. Then, after Group Three arrives, it will evenly split up and mix in with the tent groups and help with spreading the oil. The catapult groups will already be doing this by then, of course.”

They nodded.

“Meanwhile, I’ll lead the larger group towards the tent.”

“Milady,” Hannah, a pretty girl next to Franz, asked “What is inside that tent that interests you so much…?”

Hanji didn’t mind the question regarding her command. She remained neutral, turning her eyes to the large tent of bone, wood, furs and cloth.

“I have reasons to believe there’s a beast inside it. I have orders to learn what’s exactly inside that tent and, if there’s life in it, kill it.”

Hannah nodded slowly, obviously still growing accustomed to the veracity of myths.

“Any more questions?”

“Yes,” said another trainee “Why is Mikasa mentioned in your plan?” he asked dubiously, pointing with his chin at the parchment on the floor.

Hanji shrugged “Why do you think? There are seven groups and only six experienced soldiers… She was the best candidate for leadership.”

Well… that certainly aggravated Mikasa’s position… and her promise to her brother. But they refused commenting about it, knowing that Hanji’s thinking was true, Mikasa was evidently the best trainee in the 104th. She was skilled, trusted and respected – qualities of a good leader.

But then there was Eren.

They remember seeing her make multiple sacrifices just for his sake. The boy was all that concerned the girl and she didn’t even try to hide it. Of course, there was also Armin, but ultimately, Eren was all Mikasa saw, what she breathed, what moved her, what motivated her.

But now she was about to be plunged in a situation where she had to pick between her brother and her duty.

Would she be able to make the right choice then?

 

* * *

 

No sappy words were traded when the mission commenced. The impromptu leaders shut aside their doubts on their leadership skills, the trainees swallowed their fears, letting them segregate from their pores as sweat instead.

The battalion properly divided, rode off in the direction of their respective areas, keeping a safe distance from the city and camp. One group, Hanji’s, avoided Stohess through the left, taking the shorter route, closing in on the large tent. The other three, as instructed, rode off to the right, with the orders of tethering their horses a safe distance from their areas and clear the area for Group Three – it had been unanimously accepted the quickest, nimblest option in Hanji’s plan.

The last three groups rode towards the catapults, avoiding the fairly lit, fairly _crowded_ city, stopping still a good distance away from their targets and leaving their horses there.

They ran, hooded, hunched, trying to seem as concealed as they could, in between two enemy settlements, followed by 153 men.

The darkness caved them in, every sound thundering their ears, every form, a monster or predator, lurking in the shadow, waiting for the right moment to bite on their pulsing necks. Their cloaks, armors and weapons rustled too much. They often stomped the ground carelessly. They forgot how to breathe, how to blink, their heart, too, seemed to have forgotten its limits, pumping blood and adrenaline like a senseless machine.

But they refused to stop.

They only did when they reached the catapults, crouching down to catch their breaths, or, if they were in the front lines, resting against the siege engines, peeking in through the gaps in the structure to scan the area.

They were alone. Looking around, the squad leaders made quick headcounts, seeing if everyone had followed.

The wagons were not far away.

It was easy. Fifteen, from each group, could bring enough barrels back.

But there was light from the pyres.

And there was a city full of moaning trolls and ugly goblins and bloodthirsty warriors, right behind them.

And the trainees are new to all this, green, nervous and sweaty, scared of the dark and just far, far too many. 150 twenty-year olds in this cramped space, 150 lives placed on the experts’ hands, dragged unfairly into a pyromaniac’s mission.

Honestly, fuck Hanji Zoe and her impromptu plans. Or Erwin Smith and his suicidal plans. Or their dumb luck.

They had orders to follow.

 

* * *

 

Connie slipped and fell, muttering through gritted teeth “ _Fuck!”_ as he hastily raised himself, no time to brush the dirt off, only enough to rush, crouching, towards his Squad Leader and companions.

“Shit.” he mumbled “I’m falling behind.”

People had already reached the wagon, carefully picking the barrels up and lying them down on the ground, rolling them back towards their team. One Squad Leader was handling the trainees here, while the other directed the youngsters through a safe and shadowed route.

“C’mon, c’mon!” the Squad Leader, crouched by a catapult, ushered, facing him and pointing in the right direction.

Connie followed the instruction, reaching the wagon promptly.

His forehead was slick with sweat. He wondered if he was breathing too loudly. He probably was. He was also probably shaking, his muscles failing him as he tried to lift the barrel in front of him. He blamed his gloves the first time, second time too, but by the third useless gesture, he just couldn’t.

“Connie…?” his heart leaped in his thorax despite the softness of the call. Normally he would’ve recognize that voice, but he was sweaty, panting, aching, jumpy and quite uneasy at this point, his rationality was long gone, replaced by instinct and adrenaline.

“C-Connie is that you?” he quickly turned his head towards the sound.

“Marco?!”

“Shit, man, you’re as pale a ghost.”

“J-Jean!” he breathed “Jean and Marco...!” he whispered gleefully. Never had he been so happy for seeing familiar faces. He didn’t even interiorize Jean’s joke, or consider reciprocating in equal, as was expected of him. He just stared tiredly, sighing, feeling at rest and peace, honestly considering hugging and kissing them.

“… am I glad to see you guys.”

“We’re glad to see you too.” Marco said with a bright smile “I knew you belonged in the other group, but I didn’t know you had been assigned for collecting barrels.”

For the first time, Maco noticed Connie’s trouble with his task.

“Let me help you with that. Jean, go grab another.”

The tall boy huffed with a smirk, tapping the hazel-eyed boy twice on the arm, before complying with Marco’s command, easily picking up a barrel.

Connie was appalled by their calm in such a situation, but answered none the less “Uhh- yeah. I was just on my way to grab one.”

“Here you go, then.” He said, placing the barrel by Connie’s feet, turning back to pick one for himself.

“Thanks, Freckles.”

“Hey…” Jean murmured, ready to head off back to his group “… I’m glad to see you and all… but keep it together, will you?”

By the sudden serious words and stare, Connie only blinked and asked quizzically “Huh?”

“Calm down and focus, shorty. You’re trembling like a leaf.” He specified.

Connie, unnecessarily, hesitantly raised his hand, his fingers previously gripping the ends of the barrel, and looked down somberly at it. Indeed it was trembling horribly, like a tremor, rupturing his dermis.

“Guys, this isn’t the time or place for that.” Marco said sternly, uncharacteristically “Let’s head back. C’mon, Connie.”

The boy closed his hand, as if the sight burned him “Y-yeah.”

They made a safe, silent trip, despite the nightly sounds or the rolling barrels over dirt. Marco, at some point, commented on how the sky was clearing, and on how they should be cautious of moonlight.

Before they separated, Jean reached for the shorter boy’s arm, whispering quickly, making Connie’s ears struggle to decipher the breathy words,

“When you’re done, come find us.”

Connie furrowed, speaking matter-of-factly “We’re in different groups.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told Marco. But he doesn’t want you to be on your own.”

Connie instinctively looked around in search of the freckled brunette. He was nowhere to be seen, probably returned to his group to deliver his barrel, but not before making this unnecessarily plead to Jean. Why Jean, though, he wondered?

“What do you mean?! That I-”

“Exactly what I said.” he interrupted, furrowing too, tightening his grip “Look, I think it’s risky too, but Marco’s worried and you know how he is when worried. And frankly, you need the friendly support, you’re scared shitless!”

“Ah, thanks, Jean. _Really_ supportive. You know, I think-”

Jean abruptly released his arm to grab a handful of his hood, pushing harshly, furrowing hard, flaring his nostrils as he growled.

_“Look,_ you half-wit, skinny dwarf; If things go south and you’re out there on your own, _you die._ Look at you – you’re a bundle of nerves, piss and fear. Not even _Armin_ was like that when we headed out. So you’re going to deliver your fucking barrels, and when it’s time to spread that shit, _you’re going to find us_ , got that, peanut-head? Because I want to end this shit with a clear conscious; not with Marco all over my ass, bugging me of how we could have saved your cunt, but didn’t because you wanted to act tough!”

Connie didn’t know what to think or say.

Eren’s words, coming out of Jean’s mouth.

He didn’t even consider the exorbitant amount of insults he had received. His pride stung at how much of a coward he was currently being, not keeping his cool in the battlefield even though he had specifically trained for this and couldn’t even lift a freaking barrel.

Suddenly, it shone on him how much of a miracle this encounter with Jean and Marco had actually been - for his mission and for his psyche.

He also realized why the angry, egocentric Jean had been the one to make this request and not Marco.

No way would Marco’s nice words struck him half as much as Jean’s insults.

While Connie indulged, Jean had let go of his hood, still frowning, and had headed off without another word. That made the short boy realize he owed him an answer, but then corrected his thinking, realizing Jean hadn’t granted him that privilege.

So he instead headed back.

Meanwhile, the Squad Leader said to regroup.

“There’s enough oil.” he stated “Both here and in the other group.” He paused to catch his breath, craning his neck behind him, “Group Three has left already. Hopefully, the Tent Groups aren’t having trouble. Or Squad Leader Hanji.”

He turned back to the trainees “Let’s do our part, too.”

Connie swallowed dryly.

 

* * *

 

Two warriors, standing outside of their tents, chatting idly, unsuspicious of the troops, lurking in the darkness of their camp.

There were three trainees, nervously gripping their swords and shields, crouched, one of them peeking through the corner of a tent.

It was easy – all they needed, was to jump and surprise them with swords on their throats. Like the others were doing, scanning the area carefully, wary of the moonlight, torchlight and patrollers, avoiding the slumbering trolls or ecstatic goblins.

Their orders were to kill only if it would benefit the mission.

The two warriors were in the path traced for the transport of the barrels, they needed to die.

Far easier was it to think than to actually swing the blade.

They hear a faint whistle, a cut in the atmosphere. Next, they hear flesh being ruptured, blood exploding and bodies falling. The leaning trainee widens his eyes, letting his jaw fall, witnessing the warrior pair limply on the floor, crimson pooling on the ground, an arrow jutting out of each their throats.

Looking behind, they see Mikasa close to where they left their horses and archers, a long bow in her hands.

The eastern girl doesn’t bat an eyelash at her kills, readying another arrow in a mechanized movement, calmly focusing her sight on a patrolling warrior, a torch in his hand. She’s aware there’s another group of three tagging that warrior, but, like the other group, they too froze up when the chance to take the kill was in hand.

The string bobs momentarily when released, the arrow soaring towards the man’s temple.

A gush of blood and a thud on the ground and then the man was dead.

_‘Please, remember to extinguish that torch…’_ she pleads, lowering the bow, pausing for oxygen.

She watches with relief as her comrades rush out of their hiding place towards the body, hiding it in some secluded, shadowed place, stomping the lit torch until only hazy, black smoke is left dancing.

Without looking, she hands the bow to its owner, who was inert, amazed at the girl’s skill and apathy.

“Sasha.” Mikasa invokes a reaction back on her with her monotonous voice.

“O-oh… forgive me…”

She doesn’t reply, used to the brunette’s unnecessary politeness, “Shoot to kill, Sasha, not to hurt. Like you hunt – don’t hesitate. Or it could cost you.”

The girl tightens her hands around the oak bow, fighting her shaking legs “R-right.”

“I’m going in. Let’s keep to the plan.” She offers Sasha one last, greyed glance before walking towards her area, the one farthest to the North, closest to the tent.

_‘To Eren’_ she reasons ‘ _And Armin.’_

Just her luck.

Not only was she separated from them, ordered to lead a group of fifty people she didn’t particularly care about… aside from Sasha; Eren and Armin were also belonging to Hanji’s group, the ones who would probably face some beast she’s not sure how to feel about.

Things were going too fast for her.

She used to only care about two people.

Now she’s a leader, a premature soldier, killing people, joining suicide missions and fighting monsters from Armin’s books.

Her leading skills were nothing to marvel at; she’d only safely lead her group towards her area and followed Hanji’s instructions, leaving the horses and archers a safe distance away, while trying to clear the barrel reception area, just on the outskirts of the tent zones, a few minutes away from actual tents. For that, she commanded they’d form trios, easily able to protect each other and maneuver quietly.

She stopped her thinking, finding three warriors on the lookout, a troll beside them. Her eyes lingered on the drowsy, dark green beast.

It was awake, groaning and moaning lowly, scratching its large belly with one hand while the other held the most massive club she’s ever seen. The three warriors, one with a torch, the other with drinks, were chatting and laughing casually.

But they were in the route – they could difficult Group Three’s task.

Especially the beast.

So far they’ve resulted into avoiding the monsters. The trolls were easy, so big and lazy and inattentive, Mikasa sincerely considered the level of their wit. Most were in Stohess, the ones here, were either sleeping or accompanying goblins. Those they really needed to avoid.

Goblins, Mikasa gathered while observing, were slick and mischievous, preferring trinkets, stealth and attacking in groups – but only if victory was assured. Cowards, in Mikasa’s eyes.

Probably why they tagged along with trolls, they’d grant them protection. In the other hand, the troll would have clear eyes to guide him in his patrols, as well as a few intelligent fellows to guide it in battle.

Suddenly, Mikasa’s face lit up, her heart quickening in realization.

This troll was awake.

_‘Where are the goblins?!’_

She feels four small pairs of bony hands with sharp nails climb up her back, tearing her cloak, before reaching for her face and neck, high pitched, maniacal laughter ringing in her ears.

 

* * *

 

Infiltrating the tent was too easy for Hanji, she merely cut the cloth with her knife and sneaked inside, ordering her group to do the same.

It was absurdly dark and quiet, menacingly pitch black with a faint ringing sound of silence. The air felt heavy, smelling of copper, metal and heat. Looking up, she couldn’t even see the fabric of the materials covering the structure, or the wooden columns that formed its skeleton.

“Draw your weapons.” She said, holding her bow with crushing pressure, reaching for three arrows as silently as she could.

The Squad Leader’s pupils adjusted to the darkness, searching for hostiles. As she did so, she took a slow step forward, moving her head in every direction, teeth molding together, sweat prickling her neck and temples.

She felt something under her boot, making multiple, quiet metallic sounds.

She froze, ordering her followers to do the same.

Hesitantly crouching, she palmed the ground, feeling various round shapes with her fingers, progressively growing in number the farther she touched. She grabbed one of the objects, bringing it closer to her eyes, trying to feel its volume, size or any prominence under her gloved digits.

It was a coin.

Slowly moving her sight around the floor, this close to it, she found it littered with it, culminating into a mountain of gold, in the middle of the tent. There were sacks of various sizes, uneven piles of gold, artistic artifacts, chests, jewelry boxes, expensive looking clothes or weapons…

“There’s no creature…” Thomas muttered, slowly opening a chest lying on the ground “…this is just the Savage’s treasury…”

“Don’t try to take any.” Mina quietly scolded when she saw the greedy look in his eyes as his hungry hand reached for the gold.

“Why? Just a few coins… they have so much, they won’t even notice.”

“Hush, boy.” Hanji commanded sternly “Split up, thirty five to the left, the rest with me, to the right.”

“W-what if we find someone?!” one asked.

Hanji turned towards the voice, shrugged and said simply “Kill him…? Or her…?”

They silently accepted the command, appalled at the simplicity and impassivity of her words. Hanji made a quick separation, traded a few words of advice, begged for their caution and then ordered them to go.

Eren, Armin, Thomas and Mina were in her group, making sure to stay together, close to the Squad Leader.

“Hey, Armin…” Eren whispered after a few minutes of walking with all the caution his brutish feet could muster “… all this money and darkness… does any beast come to mind?”

The blonde, visibly nervous and wide eyed, swallowed and answered, not looking at the boy “Yeah… but I seriously hope I’m wrong.”

Eren blinked at his cryptic answer “S-so? What’s your hunch?”

Eavesdropping on their conversation, Hanji allowed a smile to adorn her lips, as she turned to face the blonde behind her, “Oh…! So you’re knowledgeable of mythological creatures… Ar…min…? Is that it?”

The blonde almost jumped upon being addressed directly, blinked consecutively, blabbering and stuttering “Huh, ah- y-yeah…”

“Good to know! Always nice to meet people with beliefs other than a rotted God.” she offered a generous smile “Maybe we’re of the same opinion… regarding our current predicament.”

Armin didn’t reply. Eren watched the exchange curiously and completely at loss, anxious for answers. Mina and Thomas were too preoccupied with watching where they stepped to actually pay attention to the conversation.

The group kept walking and searching, always carefully tiptoeing with their lungs tightened and their hearts by their throats. They found no guards, no food or supplies or furniture. The only thing occupying this tent was money and objects of value.

After circling their side of the tent, they met with the other group, safe and sound, only slightly edgy, as was expected.

Despite the thorough, albeit in the dark, search, Hanji didn’t feel satisfied. Glancing at the slim, blue eyed boy, nervously gripping his bow, the arrow trembling in his fingers, she noticed in his wary eyes the same doubt she felt.

But most of her team was of an opposite opinion.

“It seems like there’s nothing here, Squad Leader…” Thomas commented, approaching the pile of gold in the middle of the room, holding his sword loosely.

“What’s all the money for, though…?” one asked.

“They pillaged and robbed us, just to keep it here? I don’t buy it.” Eren defended suddenly. Beside the tall brunette, Armin lowered his head. Not noticing him, Eren turned to the leading woman “Milady, we must get to the bottom of this! There must be a reason!”

“There’s no reason, Jaeger. Everyone likes money; and if you have a lot, you can do whatever you want. Like buying weapons and armor… or materials, or supplies… at least that’s what I’m thinking they want all of this money for…”

“The Savages don’t _buy_ their stuff… they make it!”

“No matter the usage of their money,” one said, approaching Thomas, “It doesn’t change the fact that there is nothing here.”

“Milady, your orders were to scout the tent. We scouted it, to find the Savage’s stash of gold. Our mission is complete, by now the rest of the groups must have depleted enough oil to set all of this ablaze… let’s retreat…”

Hanji pondered the words, fixing her eyes on the trainee, making him go slightly uncomfortable under her gaze. She had to agree with his thinking, it was rational and, well, the truth. There was no certainty that there would be a beast inside the tent… her and Levi just thought so, based on past torments.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about all that knowledge she collected from forbidden books.

And according to said books, only one creature craves riches this greedily.

And she sees no way to kill it under these circumstances.

A minute of silence she wasted thinking about this. Another, for finally nodding in agreement to the trainee’s advice, or truth, or whatever.

They didn’t walk for a full minute before they heard a swift, whispery noise of shifting, sliding piles of golden coins.

Hanji turned immediately. Some trainees ignored it, in favor of promises of a return to safety, others didn’t hear it. But some did. Namely Thomas, who grew immediately tense, feeling a gelid pang of panic inside his chest.

“Something wrong… Thomas?” Mina asked worriedly.

“Didn’t you hear that?”

She blinked, tilting her head, “Hear what?”

“T-the gold… I heard something… I-“

The same sound. Louder. Clearer. Like a ghastly chant, snaking inside their ears.

“Y-you didn’t hear that?!”

“I heard it.” Eren said, frowning “Did you hear it, Armin?”

Eren frowned deeper when he saw the state his friend was in. Armin was a mess of shaking limbs, sweat beads and clattering teeth, his wide eyes glistening as tears of panic peeked at the corners of his eyes.

He was in the same state he had found him, a few hours ago, before departure. Back then he had just enough time to calm him down; right now he feared he had none, though.

“Y-yeah…” still, the boy managed to stutter a reply.

Armin knew what was inside this tent. And it was a creature so terrifying, it managed to make the boy completely succumb to fear.

And Eren just couldn’t ask what it was, because he knew the boy simply couldn’t.

So, slaying it was all he could do.

The brunette felt his bones snapping under his gloves as he tightened his grip around his sword and shield, turning around, facing the pile of coins with flared nostrils and angered eyes, allowing his rage and adrenaline to swallow his fear and anxiety, ignoring the frenetic drumming of his heart as he crossed the distance towards the golden mountain.

“B-boy! Wait!” Hanji called from afar, mind racing, hastily reaching for arrows from her quiver “Stay away!”

“Eren, wait!” Thomas, steeling himself, followed the brave boy, raising his sword and shield.

The brunette didn’t stop, but the blonde eventually caught up to him.

“E-Ere-“ Armin couldn’t even speak. Stupid, weak, coward… never had he felt like such a useless, pathetic burden.

Hearts and lungs marked time and space. A heartbeat, a millisecond, a step closer, two seconds. A hasty inhale, a minute.

They arrived.

Eren glanced to his left at the nervous Thomas, watching him nod once, before slowly lifting his blade towards the gold, intending to dig and poke.

Not a millimeter was it from a single golden piece, when the coins moved again, right in front of the pointy, silver, cold blade. They fell in rivers, sliding down the mountain until they gathered around their frozen feet.

A gigantic, tender piece of flesh moved upwards, making no sound in its wake.

A moist, colorless membrane was summoned by the action, before allowing the sight of an enormous eyeball.

Feline-like, dilated pupils, its blackness coloring most of the eye, were focused on both paralyzed boys. Miniscule stripes from the iris were visible. A fiery pallet of oranges, yellows and reds, burning the sight of the beholders.

It blinked and the trainees did nothing but stare.

They stared too, when it slowly, lazily raised its equally monstrously big head, the sound of falling coins muted to the agape boys. As it raised himself, they could determine through the darkness its long, powerful neck, its chest and legs and, finally, its massive pair of bat-like wings. There were no front paws.

They also realized the creature had been there all along, just next to them, this whole time.

Sleeping, unmoving in the dark, its dark color not facilitating its recognition.

It was all scales and scars, and horns and claws and teeth, and flared, smoky nostrils, piercing, red eyes as it emitted a guttural, soul-shattering growl.

Behind both boys, they could hear stuttering, sobbing and gasping, as well as hesitant tip toeing. They watched, completely terrified and naked of hope or courage, the beast bring its head back, rising in its feet, eyes and millions of teeth fixed on both boys beneath its stare.

Hanji didn’t have time to shoot her arrows.

Armin didn’t have time to scream or sob.

But the dragon had time to roar and dive its open jaws downwards.


	9. Soldiers and Cowards

The feverish breath and metallic scream bellowed down on Eren.

A jolt ran through his muscles, his will to fight and survive, making him jump away from the massive jaws’ reach. His sword and shield were still tight on his sore fingers when he landed flat on his stomach.

The air swooshed inside the tent. The trainees gasped and screamed and nocked arrows or raised swords. A crunching sound of bone and flesh being ripped apart and an explosion of blood was the only thing Eren’s brain truly interiorized.

Quickly flipping and rising to his feet, safely backing away, he saw Thomas’s remains – a pair of static legs and a portion of his abdomen in a pool of blood and intertwining, incomplete viscera.

“THOMAS!” he heard Mina squeal.

The dragon lowered its body so it could support itself on the clawed, enormous fingers on its wings. It turned its head slowly to the rest of the group and roared again, Eren fighting not to wince and squirm at the painful blast of sound.

He looked back at what was left of his comrade.

Thomas was dead.

That was hard to say.

But he was dead. Somewhere slithering down that grimy, long throat, screaming and crying and wondering about his family and lost world and life, soon to dive and deteriorate helplessly in a pool of stomach acid.

That was what was left of Thomas’s life – Eren knew. And there was nothing he could do, or even tried to do, to help.

_‘Coward.’_

He felt his veins on fire, every fiber in his body shaking with rage and contempt for this monster, now predatorily sliding towards the rest of his comrades, releasing raspy growls as its jaws, scales and horns grazed the ground, its eyes leveled with the retreating soldiers.

It was going to kill them, too.

Eren felt something snap inside him – the tearing of a thin thread. His rage swam through his feverish blood.

He screamed as he ran, blind and possessed.

The dragon turned its neck, eying the berserking boy.

With a smoky nasal huff, it swatted him off with its wing, making him fly, separating him from his sword, and crash violently into the pile of gold.

“EREN! NO!” Armin screamed desperately, a voice finally reaching his previously paralyzed vocal chords.

Hanji unfroze too at the shattered blonde’s screams and cries and at the sight of Eren Jaeger groaning in the ground, palming his broken bones, coughing blood and spit.

The dragon’s head was in reach, she realized.

Next to her, was a trainee holding a spear.

She let go of her bow and arrows entirely and roughly took it, dashing fearlessly at the amused monster, its head turning back to its intruders.

Just in time for Hanji to jump and impale the dragon’s pupil with all the strength in her arms until a third of the spear had torn the tender and moist organ, blood exploding in hot rivulets and squirts as she twisted it around, widening the wound, drenching her clothes, face and hair in the dragon’s life essence, uncaring of the beast’s ear-shattering pained squeals and screeches.

 

* * *

 

“Who are you, lady?”

“You shouldn’t be here, you know…”

Mikasa grunted as she felt the scratching on her neck and face caused by the creatures crawling up her back. She shook her body and protected her face with her hands, but their sharp, little nails dug deep into her armor and cloak.

She gasped, kicking her leg when she felt a stab on the side of her calf.

“Oh… and what is this…?! Shouldn’t it be green?” the goblin inquired, pulling back its small knife.

She felt two more stabs after that one.

“But it’s definitely red!”

The other little fiends kept laughing and climbing around her like she was a tree, scratching and hitting her here and there. She felt the goblin with the knife climb up her leg and stab the side of her thigh.

Mikasa grunted and snarled furiously.

She grabbed the hands on her face, pulling hard, smashing their owners on the ground head first. She then gripped the third goblin’s throat and pushed him unto the ground, using her other hand to remove the knife, small in her hand, from her leg and stick it into the kicking, muttering and squirming goblin’s eye.

She exhaled in relief.

She heard a low grumble, wary chatter and dropping of mugs and unsheathing of swords.

Well, of course she’d alarm the troll and warriors with all this racket.

She stood and drew her katanas, eying her opponents attentively as she caught her breath.

“O-ow… my head…” The green, skinny creature at her feet moaned, standing in its knees.

“Well, that was unladylike.” The other mumbled.

Mikasa allowed herself a millisecond of surprise at the creature’s knowledge of the common tongue, also correcting herself about her opinion of the goblins’ intelligence, since these two had shown quite the level of stupidity with their comments.

She then killed them both without hesitating, attentive of the approaching, barking warriors and groaning, fat, three-meter tall troll.

It was just two meters away from her, the three warriors behind it.

She started feeling her leggings sticking to her wounds. The blood on her pulsing neck started mixing in with the sweat, the one on her cheek drying on the cool air. Those were just scratches, not fatal, but she really wanted to wash and bandage her leg.

This was bad.

She didn’t know how fared the rest of her squad, if they had been discovered too or, worse, if she had just blown the mission due to her mistake, though she did not hear any alarms or any other warriors aside from these ones.

The troll roared, raising its club, taking two quick steps closer. Perhaps _that_ served as an alarm in Savage camps – the others would certainly notice that.

Mikasa prepared to roll, swallowing her blame for now.

An arrow hit the beast’s pectoral, barely staggering it, but stopping it mid-swing. The girl, though surprised, used the opportunity to dash towards the troll, using both blades to slice its prominent belly, splattering a green, oozy liquid all over her uniform and face, earing the thudding of the troll’s intestines on the ground.

“ _Mikasa!_ ” she heard Sasha worriedly squeal from far behind her. If the girl had realized there was no use for stealth by now or had just shouted recklessly, the easterner was unsure.

She stepped back swiftly, before the warriors could reach her, shocked at the girl’s unusual skill and the unexpected arrival of an archer.

_‘Well done, Sasha.’_ She silently congratulated _‘But your hand trembled. You could’ve hit the eye if you wanted to.’_

Mikasa quickly cleaned the blood from her eyes with her forearm.

The troll was moaning and groaning as one hand struggled to keep its organs from seeping out of its wound, the other was on the ground to support the massive beast. The club was far away from its reach, on the floor.

The troll was persistent - it was still alive. Barely, but alive.

She took a deep breath before darting off at her enemies.

The troll tried to hurl her away with an open palm, but the wound slowed it terribly. She dodged and slipped in closer to the creature’s head, slicing its throat and then circling the gagging, gurgling, dying beast to fight the warriors.

An arrow flew by her, hitting one on the shoulder. Sasha’s hands were still trembling. The warrior huffed, but remained steady on its feet.

They heard a bellowing roar - monstrous, nightmarish, making the troll’s roars seeming whines in comparison. It startled them all.

Mikasa’s eyes widened, her grip loosening dangerously as she noticed the sound had come from the tent.

The warriors too had tensed up, looking at each other urgently with wide eyes beneath their skull masks and facial paint.

“Eren.” Mikasa whispered worriedly.

Taking advantage of her distraction and overcoming their scare easily, they attacked.

A warrior, male, of medium-built, wielding a torch and a barbed sword swung at her, aiming at her face. Mikasa blocked in time only due to recognizing the swift whisper of a blade cutting air. She heard a female shout behind her, she saw an axe by the corner of her eye.

She danced away of the first warrior, switched her grip on her other katana, and piercing the raging woman’s stomach, letting go of that blade to twirl, gaining speed and strength to chop the first warrior’s head off with the other one.

A torrent of red spat out of the warrior’s neck, scarlet gushed out and soaked its fur and leather armor. The head fell with a macabre expression frozen on its face. The woman collapsed to the ground, cutting her fingers as she gripped the extremely sharp blade, groaning and hissing in pain.

Mikasa turned to the remaining warrior, the one Sasha had struck. His chest was heaving, his muscles painfully tense as he gripped his axe and ignored the arrow on his shoulder.

He didn’t stand a chance.

Mikasa empathically retrieved her blade from the woman’s stomach, leaving her desperately palming her wound.

She then ran at the warrior and ended the pathetic fight in less than a minute.

Another roar was heard. She turned, even more afraid than before, and saw something she never thought would witness in her life.

She saw the roof of the tent tearing and rupturing as something _very alive_ and _very big_ pushed against it.

She saw a dragon, spawning from beneath all those furs and cloth and wood and bones, flying and roaring, or squealing in absolute pain, she couldn’t guess, uncaring of the huge tent remnants falling to the ground as it breathed gouts of the brightest flames she had ever seen, lighting the whole sky and camp and itself.

And Mikasa saw just how exactly big that thing was, with its wings, tail and neck spread, as it flew in random directions and kept on roaring and spitting fire.

She felt panic grow inside her.

“Eren!”

She ran back, sheathing her blades quickly. She didn’t analyze her surroundings, her teams or the groups or the chaos that had begun settling as warriors in her area came on full alert due to her stupid mistake and this new misfortune and started battling her comrades.

“M-Mikasa…!” Sasha stuttered when the girl was within earshot “W-what do we do now…? What is that thing?!”

She ignored her, only stopping running when she reached the closest horse, not even minding if it was hers or not.

“Mikasa, where are you going?!” an archer asked her worriedly “Don’t you remember our orders?!”

She fought not to look as she climbed on the saddle. She didn’t want to remember the faces of her stunned and betrayed comrades as she spat on her duties, favoring her brother’s safety.

Of course she remembered them, Hanji’s final words before they set out, directed to all of them but more specifically to the Squad Leaders.

_“If things go south, ignite your areas and retreat immediately. The catapult groups should be able to do their part easily and the tent groups should be able to retreat safely…”_ Hanji had said “ _If our cover gets blown, we’ll at least have a few more forces for the vanguard and have destroyed the catapults.”_

She imagined Group Three had abandoned its objective and started running back to its horses to retreat, because they had never gotten any barrels or seen any comrades in all of this.

She could also see and hear her comrades, _her teammates_ , engaging nearby warriors; the strumming of bowstrings, the clashing of metal. She furrowed, hearing the cutting of flesh and pained screaming.

“Mikasa…” she looked at Sasha, in front of her, crying profusely as she gripped her bow with both hands “… don’t abandon us… please…” she said hopelessly. She knew what Mikasa wanted, and was begging her not to do it.

Her orders were to lead these people. Their lives were in her hands.

Fifty comrades she trained with for four years.

One close friend - her bunk partner, who guided her in marksmanship, hunting, tracking, cooking… anything that didn’t come naturally to her. A person whom she had shared memories with and granted worthy of her time and wisdom.

She had lived, trained, eaten and drunk and even laughed with Sasha.

She had held her as she cried.

She had tended to her bruises from training.

She had fed her when she was sick.

Sasha was Mikasa’s friend, and she was hers. As so, she needed to stay beside her now, to protect her and guide her, as she’s been doing up to this point. Nothing else was expected of her.

But then there was Eren.

There was that dragon, which now had landed by the catapult areas, blindly and uncaringly setting everything ablaze, the oil and human grease feeding the flames, no archers necessary to destroy any catapults.

And with that, her decision was pretty clear.

She circled Sasha and galloped away.

 

* * *

 

Armin trembled like a twig under winter winds.

His eyes were wide, tears streaked his dirty cheeks and sweat glistened in his skin. His hood had fallen due to the powerful flap of the dragon’s wings, revealing disheveled blonde strands. He was paralyzed on the ground, sitting on his rear with his hands rigidly by his sides.

Hanji wasn’t far away, lying very still. Her cloak had been torn and many cuts adorned the back of her uniform.

When she had pierced the dragon’s eye with that spear, she had failed to predict the beast’s reaction to the pain.

It had straightened its back and raised its head, carrying Hanji with it. When she had realized the increase in height and the frenetic shaking of the beast’s head, she let go, rolling along the dragon’s spine, cutting herself on the many scales, Armin thought she actually hit her head very hard on one of the horns protruding from the dragon’s back, and then fell violently on the ground.

Armin was unsure if the Squad Leader was alive.

He didn’t even know how _he_ was alive.

By some miracle, he hadn’t been whipped by the dragon’s tail or roasted when it entered its rage.

Most of his comrades weren’t so lucky.

From here, he could see Thomas’s remains.

He could see Mina, too, just a black, smoking corpse, not even faintly resembling the pretty, cheerful girl she used to be.

But he couldn’t see Eren. And that crushed Armin.

All the boy could hear were pained screams from broken bones or severe burns, angered shouts and clashing of steel as they engaged the alert warriors, hopeless cries and despaired sobs and the dragon’s furious roaring and fire-spitting.

It smelled of dirt, filth and burnt hair and flesh and so, so much of smoke.

Armin just wanted for it all to stop.

He wanted his friends. He wanted his grandfather. He wanted his adventurous parents and his books and the safety and comfort of his house.

He wanted the past. Normality.

But none of that was in reach.

His parents were dead and his friends now too. His grandfather is waiting for him to return with a Scouting Legion uniform, gone a boy, returning a man.

A man with scars and burns and tear stains.

He doesn’t want this. This is _not_ what he trained for.

He was so enthralled in his self-pity, he didn’t even hear the heavy pair of boots approaching him, or the maniacal laughter and mocking words. Only when he felt a radiating hostile aura, just next to him, did he slowly crane his neck, his teary eyes seeing a blurred image of an enormous, strongly built warrior.

He didn’t move or speak when he felt his fur boot gently press his shoulder. With the same foot he set him correctly on his back, as if he knew him and loved him like a son, tucking him in this bed of dirt, gold and blood.

He set his foot on his chest, eyes fixed on him, blood-stained axe in its large, hairy and meaty hand.

“Hey there.” His voice was hoarse and mischievous, like grime sticking to your eardrum.

There were food crumbs on his thick, grey beard. His hair was disheveled in its curls and grease. His teeth were yellow, his breath reeked of wine and rot. The man was so ugly and old and disgusting, it was depressing that this would be the last thing Armin would see.

“You don’t look very old.” He said “Not with that pretty face and those pretty eyes.”

Armin refrained from doing anything, aside from staring.

“Are you sure you’re old enough to join the army?” he asked, removing his foot to kneel down next to him, “Could you tell me how old you are… boy?

The words floated in his mind and the phrases were left for him to piece together. His heart thudded against his sternum, a single drop of sweat trailed down his humid, throbbing temple.

The savage tilted his head, “Eighteen…? Nineteen…? Gods – you’re not twenty, are you?!”

He set the axe on the floor and temptingly, slowly, his dark eyes always fixed on his crystalline ones, climbed on top of him, straddling his legs.

There was a moment of silence before Armin felt a calloused finger slowly, softly, brush his cheek. He started shivering, his eyes glimmering.

His lower jaw started trembling when he felt the remaining fingers join in on this awful caress, feeling his jaw and cheeks, his buttoned nose, his ear lobes and neck.

“I don’t usually get someone so pretty.” He whispered. His dry lips slowly morphed into a grin “I don’t usually get boys, either. Never had, really. Wonder what it feels like, to be inside a boy.”

His hands came down to roughly pull on Armin’s trousers.

It injected panic into the boy’s veins and brought him to life, making him squirm and scream with red-eyes as he desperately and bestially clawed and punched the man. He felt his skin sink beneath his nails, his knuckles smashing his jaw, teeth and eye. He hit him blindly, only wanting to be free from this disgusting man.

But still he chortled horridly, his fingers digging into his hips, one of his hands pressing down harshly on his throat, silencing his screaming and breathing.

A gloved, shaking hand viciously grabbed strands of the warrior’s hair from behind, making him stop his intrusions.

Armin paralyzed.

A sword struck the warrior’s neck, slicing flesh like melted butter. The blade was halted by his cervical. The blonde’s savior retreated the sword from between the vertebras, striking again and again, chopping bones and tendons and veins and tissue like a sadistic lumberjack.

The name was stuck in Armin’s throat as he ogled at his savior, holding the head by the hair, gasping and trembling.

He kicked the body away from him violently and threw the head away.

He had no cape or shield. His uniform was coated in warrior blood, same scarlet liquid dripping from his blade and soaked glove. His hair was messy, his eyes were wide, bloodshot and sunken, his eyebrows were furrowed like Armin had never seen, making the boy seem so, so much older.

“Armin…” he breathed, still shuddering.

The blonde felt his eyes water again, “E-EREN!” he squealed finally, picking himself up and jumping at his friend’s neck, all sweaty, teary, dirty and bloodied.

He heard him hiss and groan, rigidly setting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him away.

Armin remembered Eren probably had quite the set of injuries from the hit he took.

“O-oh, I’m so sorry!”

“F-forget that…” he said with straining, a hand pressing to his ribs “… we have to get out of here.”

Armin silently and quizzically watched his friend skip a few steps away from him and bend down to pick up a bow, probably belonging to one of his fallen comrades, and then walk back up to him, handing him the weapon, “Keep this.”

“U-uh- hmm, s-sure.” He stammered, taking the weapon, watching it worriedly.

“Alright, now c’mon.”

“But… where to, Eren?” he asked alarmingly, halting with his heels when the brunette started pulling him by the wrist with his free hand.

His answer came in an annoyed tone and frown, like if it were obvious “Back to our horses…”

“Uh? But Eren, we can’t go there! There’s no telling if Savages have already found them; it would be a wasted and dangerous effort!”

“We’ll just kill the Savages that get in our way!”

“ _K-kill?!_ ” Armin repeated in a whispered, astonished squeal “We can’t kill anyone, Eren! You’re injured and I… I…” he stammered, looking away, his hands shaking uncontrollably “… I don’t trust myself to shoot an arrow.” He finished quietly, squishing his eyelids.

“Armin!” He called sternly “We have no choice!”

“Yes we do, Eren! And if it doesn’t seem like it, it’s because we’re not thinking!” he shouted back, pulling his hand free from Eren’s strong grip. His nerves were stinging his eyes, but he swallowed the tears as he stared up at the enraged, reckless boy, fighting turquoise with cerulean.

Armin didn’t know from where his voice had come from. Or his determination. Or his strength and strive and cunning.

But it was there. It was finally there, grappling with fear.

He put his hood on and crouched, remembering it was stupid of him to be screaming in a battlefield.

Eren slowly crouched too.

“We need to think this through. _Carefully.”_ Armin said “We can’t run around blindly trusting our skills…we’re not expert soldiers or prodigies… we’re not your hero, Lieutenant Levi, or Mikasa… we’re Eren and Armin, injured and _alone_ , on foot, in the middle of an enemy camp, with, at least, 2,000 warriors and trolls and goblins and a _dragon…_! Soon the rest of the army will pool out of Stohess to kill the intruders – us - and tame their dragon and we absolutely _must_ have a horse by then.”

“Because if not, we’ll be found and killed.” He finished, listening attentively.

Armin sighed to calm his racing mind, agreeing with a whisper, glad his apprehensive monologue had stricken the boy.

“Then…” Eren murmured, looking around “… what do we do?”

The blonde swallowed, furrowing heavily, struggling to remember in detail the map of this camp, “We can’t risk heading back… and we can’t risk going to the catapult groups, not with that dragon there…”

“That leaves the tent areas. We go to Mikasa’s, it’s the closest.” Eren finished impatiently.

“Yes. They must be currently repelling the warriors so they can safely retreat… I don’t imagine they’d want to leave anyone behind… so they must still be around.” he added quietly, looking in the distance.

“Then let’s go! There’s no time to lose!” he stood “If we keep to the borders of the camp we’ll avoid battles!”

“Uh, yeah.”

The possibility of an enemy encounter was almost a certainty, and that thoroughly perturbed Armin.

They needed to use stealth and tread carefully.

But Eren was thinking differently, carelessly running unnaturally fast with a killer gleam in his eyes. That wouldn’t be good for his fractures… or their plan.

But Armin had to spare his breath to keep up, not warn him.

Plus, if time was against them, perhaps rushing wasn’t such a bad idea.

 

* * *

 

Jean, Marco and Connie found themselves in a labyrinth of fire, smoke and crisping wood, their comrades in a similar situation, shields held high to repel the flames, swords drawn to attack any approaching Savage.

The dragon was too close for comfort, attacking anything on sight, friend or foe, swallowing men whole, stomping or whipping its tail and exhaling fire.

Marco noticed the spear on its eye and thought that that was the reason for its rampage.

“Through here!” Jean ordered, leading the trio through a dry path, keeping a watchful eye on the raging dragon as well as around him, struggling to keep his senses acute, despite all he could smell and see.

“Connie, you okay?” Marco asked worriedly, from behind the shaven-haired boy, who was tagging behind Jean.

“OH, YEAH. I’M GREAT.”

“Good to know!”

The boy seemed fine, keeping up the pace, not falling down, physically or mentally. Their presence had luckily stricken confidence in the boy.

“Savages!” Jean snarled, raising his shield and sword, feeling the tensing on his thighs as he bent his knees and prepared for combat.

There were four, coming right at them. One of them was an archer, who had halted to nock an arrow. Jean heard his best friend huff and Connie cuss under his breath, but mimicking his stance too.

“Ah, fuck…!” Jean muttered, seeing the rushing, crazed warriors, but insanely worried about the archer and his arrow and on how the hell was he going to block it.

“Oh, shit – JEAN, WATCH OUT!” Marco suddenly and desperately shouted, leaving Jean at loss.

He felt urgent arms roughly circle his waist, lifting him from the ground and throwing him backwards.

His sword slipped through his appalled fingers.

He huffed as his back hit the floor. Quickly rising on his forearms, he saw the dragon’s neck craned this way, red and orange light illuminating the depths of its throat before it shot a blazing, obliterating wall of fire.

“MARCO, RUN!” Connie shouted, staring and panicking next to Jean.

The warriors were turned to dust, directly on the path of the flamethrower, no hope of escape or survival.

Marco threw his hands in front of his face, twisting his body, knowing it was too late to run.

He screamed as he burned.

“NO! MARCO!” Jean helplessly screamed too, over the fire and shouts and roars “MARCO!” he repeated, seeing the fire lessening, his friend falling, embers and smoke emanating from his crisped armor and cloak.

He ran hopelessly, seeing his friend trembling and shriveling in a ball on the ground.

“Marco…” he whispered as he kneeled, putting out the fires with careful taps, rolling him around in the dirt as well “No- no, Marco…!”

When the fire died down, he was whimpering, shuddering and struggling to breathe. His arm was completely charred, the burn still covering part of his ribs and shoulder, ruined clothes and armor sticking to bloodied, pink and black, tormented flesh.

The left side of Marco’s face was completely destroyed.

There was no dark, short hair. No freckles. No ear. No cheek, or thin eyebrow, or honest-shaped eye or generous smile.

All there was, was a mess of tangled skin and muscle and dirt sticking to blood.

Marco was unrecognizable.

But he was breathing; he was still alive. He hadn’t been directly in the path, just far too close to it, and that was his fucking luck.

“Hold on, buddy. I’ll get you to safety. Just…” his forehead quivered, Jean bit back the tightening in his throat “… just hold on a while longer.”

He put his hood back over Marco’s head, crawling quickly back to retrieve his sword, then, leaving his shield behind, he picked up Marco gingerly, holding him protectively against himself, closing his eyes as he heard his friend gasp and cry incoherently as his wounds brushed against his armor.

“Okay… there. You still with me?” the boy had returned to whimpering and breathing “Good. Where’s Connie?”

For the first time, he noticed the short boy wasn’t with them. Looking around, he found him running towards them with only his sword. When he was within earshot, Jean asked, “Where have you been?”

Connie was gasping, body rigid and eyes wide.

“With the archer.” He answered curtly.

Jean furrowed in puzzlement.

“I killed him.”

“O-oh.”

Connie seemed to be entirely over his fears and nerves, Jean realized with relief.

“How’s…” he asked temptingly.

“He’s alive. But he needs help. Fast. Did you find some clear way out of here?”

Connie looked at his friend compassionately before offering Marco a similar look, furrowing and pressing his lips together. He then looked back at Jean,

“The only way I see is this one.” Connie explained, straightening and relieving the tenseness on his back muscles “I saw the dragon divert its attention to the tent groups, which means we have a clear path to get back to our horses. Our groups are still retreating as we speak, we’re not too late. We keep to this path and we’ll get there eventually. But we need to be fast – look.”

Jean followed Connie’s outstretched finger, watching agape, with hollow hopelessness and panic, a huge number of warriors and trolls pool out of Stohess. They weren’t the full army, but they were still, at least, 5,000 thousand men.

“Oh, fuck me...” He said as he stared.

“They will, if we stay here, Jean!”

He frowned back at him, at his newfound calm and at the return of his usual good-natured and good-hearted ‘Connie look’ despite Marco’s state, this whole mess and his recent kill.

“Okay. Lead the way, I’ll keep up.”

 

* * *

 

Mikasa’s steed was terrified.

The fire glinted in its dark eyes, exhales were cut short with every forced gallop, gasps and grunts were emitted from its mouth. Its ears were clasped against its skull, the wind ruffled the hair of its main and tail frenetically, every noise from the raging war only scaring the animal more.

But Mikasa was too determined to let her horse freeze in fear, constantly whipping the reins on its neck or kicking its flank with her ankles.

The easterner narrowed her eyes as she drew closer to the dragon.

It was the only thing between her and the former tent area.

She saw the beast trample forward, distracted with a bunch of warriors and trainees in front of it. The earth shook and the air shifted as the beast tore holes into the dirt with its heavy paws and body as it roared at the retreating and doomed men.

“C’mon!” she snarled at her horse, whipping and kicking, taking the opportunity to run past the dragon now that it was distracted.

It’s tail swooshed by her, sending a repelling air current, startling her mount, making Mikasa gasp and buckle up, struggling to keep on the saddle as the animal stood on its back hooves, neighing loudly in panic.

She kept her eyes on the dragon’s tail, pulling the reins to stabilize her fear-stricken horse, stubbornly grunting and huffing, bobbing its neck and stomping the ground.

Mikasa started grating her teeth, irritated at her loose hair sticking to the sweat and at the dry blood and cuts and at her inability to say anything to soothe her erratic mount.

The tail was coming towards her again, about to hit her from behind.

Her steed started running blindly, away from the chaos and the dragon and its tail.

Mikasa lowered her head quickly, feeling her hair flutter and her cloak rustle by the air current as the tail swung by. She looked back at the monster, to see if it followed her or targeted her. It didn’t, to her great satisfaction.

She took a deep breath. Her horse was running the wrong way, forward, towards the forest.

Mikasa tugged on the reins softly, commanding her horse to turn. It obeyed; the animal was braver than she had expected despite everything, and Mikasa took a moment to bless whatever deity was watching this world right now for making her pick such a good mount when she had done so randomly.

She heard the quaking sound of the dragon’s powerful wings.

She turned quickly back at the monster to see it set off, spitting a torrent of flames at the humans previously pestering it, before drawing a parabola in the air and ending up crashing against Stohess’s remains, crumbling a watchtower and pieces of the wall.

_‘What the hell…?!’_ Mikasa thought, halting her horse in astonishment to watch the dragon wiggled out of beneath a pile of rubble, swatting off dust clouds and debris with its furious whipping tail and wings, snapping its jaws at nearby warriors or trolls, or hammering them with its skull.

_‘Well… good.’_ she concluded with a blink _‘The less Savages, the better.’_

Anyway, with the monster out of the battlefield, the girl could look for her friends more thoroughly. So she scurried the area like an alarmed, disturbed hawk, her neck turning quickly, her eyes widening slowly as her panic increased.

“Eren…” she whispered again and again, demanding the horse to run “Eren!” she called desperately.

There were many, many more enemies.

_‘From Stohess.’_ She concluded _‘They came for us and that thing!’_

She could see fire and smoky pillars and dashing humans or raging trolls with their stupid, small and coward goblin companions, and hear clashing of blades or thudding of arrows. The smell of crisping wood and smoke fed her lungs and the sight of bleeding, burning corpses festered on her eyes.

She was about to scream, when she heard it.

_“EREN, STOP!”_

Mikasa’s heart skipped a beat as her head struggled to decipher the source of the sound.

_“EREN!”_

“Armin…!” she whispered, her heart filling with an indescribable hope.

_“RUN! WE HAVE TO RUN!”_

A snarl crawled into her face as she bared her teeth and flared her nostrils, furrowing her eyebrows and casting a shadow on her foggy eyes, dark like a wolf’s, one that is willing to chomp down throats of bears that try to approach its pack.

She forced her horse to hurry.

Two trolls were in sight, a considerate distance away from her. Big and fat and carrying those menacing clubs.

There were goblins, too. Five in one troll, two on the other.

She could hear Armin’s pleads and Eren’s swears from the other side of the drowsy beasts.

She felt her breath hot with rage as she drew both her swords, squeezing her horse’s flanks with her thighs and ankles for balance, curling her body closer to her mount.

She galloped towards the troll on the right, preparing to slice its hip and up to its belly with both blades.

And she did.

She squeezed her eyes shut as green ooze erupted from fresh gash, splattering all over her eyelids and cheeks and soaking her hair and armor, as her katanas grazed the monster’s hip bone and tore the side of the troll’s belly.

“MIKASA!” she heard Armin scream erratically as he saw his friend trot in front of them protectively, smudging her face clean.

She didn’t see Eren’s quizzical looks, or the state he was in.

She was more focused on the beasts, looking at her as if she were an intruder.

She slid off the saddle.

Eren dashed past her towards the other troll, screaming like an animal as he sliced its stomach. The beast roared and he kept on striking furiously, ripping more and more flesh and organ apart.

The troll fell and the goblins jumped in time. She ran towards them, making easy kills. She heard her brother scream erratically as he hurried to climb atop the monster, slumping in the wounds and tripping in the viscera and massacred flesh and soaking himself in dark-green blood before he reached its chest and kneeling to stab where its heart supposedly was, struggling to not fall off the screaming and raging beast.

She turned to kill the remaining troll, rolling away from its reach when it tried to clobber her with its club, taking advantage of its exposed throat to dig her katana underneath its mouth, making the blade penetrate the troll’s slapping, fat tongue, and peek out of its skull.

She left the sword and to climbed atop the fallen troll’s shoulder to kill the two goblins. They had vanished.

_‘Cowardly little pests.’_ She thought, knowing they had most likely fled in fear of dying.

She turned to look back longingly at her brother, seeing him still in the same spot, hunching his shoulders, his neck hanging limply, his uniform all ruined with burns and soaked with green and red blood, his chest heaving and his hair a mess.

She’s never been more relieved to see him.

“Eren!” she gasped, running towards him, sheathing one blade so she could curl an arm around his neck, kneeling too and burying her head in a desperate and much needed hug, ignoring their disgraceful appearances.

A hug that didn’t last long, because Eren pushed her shoulder with one tired, heavy hand so he could look her in the eyes.

“Mikasa, what are you doing here?!” he demanded “You were supposed to be retreating with your group!”

“E-Eren…” she was so stricken by his rudeness and lack of compassion and understanding, she could only manage to whisper, not minding concealing her tears of her previous relief “… I-I saw that thing and-“

Eren widened his eyes, lessening his frown in shock, and parted his lips.

“Don’t tell me you left them…” he muttered, standing, following her eyes as she mimicked him, his eyebrows knitted together tightly as he snarled “I can’t believe you…! Mikasa… y-you abandoned your squad?! Our comrades?!”

“E-Eren-“ she fell silent when she felt his hands, shaking with anger, brusquely grab handfuls of her hood.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?! EVERYTHING’S FALLING APART – PEOPLE ARE DYING, MIKASA – WHY IN THE-“

“Eren, shut up!” Armin came in between them, pushing the other boy harshly, who fell on his back on the flabby troll skin, gasping and rasping because of his injuries. The blonde had to swallow his apology,

“Do you want us to be found?! Don’t scream like that!”

“I don’t fucking care!” he spat, struggling to get on his feet, glaring at the girl “YOU HAD ORDERS TO FOLLOW; YOU HAD RESPONSIBILITIES! SQUAD LEADER HANJI TRUSTED YOU WITH THIS AND YOU COMPLETELY SPAT ON HER. SHE TRUSTED YOU, MIKASA!”

Armin jumped him, pushing him back against the dead troll, forearm on his chest, hand on his mouth, mimicking his frown, ignoring his squirming and muffled screams, “Please, keep quiet! Y-yes, she ran away… but we’ll have to deal with that later! Right now we need to worry about surviving!”

“Too late.”

The blonde turned quickly to watch the back of the girl, head slightly lowered, hands loosely gripping both of her swords. She must have retrieved the other one while he was trying to calm Eren.

Her voice was monotonous, inexpressive. Like it usually was, but Armin knew her well enough to recognize the increased dead tone in her voice, the tone she used when she boxed in her sadness whenever these two had an argument.

In front of them was a group of ten warriors on horseback.

“Oh, no…”

“S-shit…!” Eren muttered. The blonde looked back at him, on his feet, gripping his sword tightly, his body all tense and ready to fight.

When had Armin let him go? When did he stand?

He watched him walk up beside Mikasa. The girl didn’t look at him and neither did he look at her.

Armin felt cold inside.

A roar split the night sky and dissipated smoke. The dragon flew by them, so close, they felt the weight of the gusts and waves of air from the swishing of its wings. It flew over the tent areas, burning anything beneath it.

It then turned to land, proceeding with its assault there.

This was awful.

Ten riders. Eren was injured and angry. Mikasa was weary and wounded and _hurt_. And he was scared. So scared… so nervous and so uncertain.

He could die.

And If he died, all of his dreams went with him.

He wouldn’t be able to travel. To learn and experience. To smell and taste freedom.

And it was all so bitter to him, to die and leave this whole, new and mysterious world behind.

All he could do and learn and _see_ … all gone as everything went to black.

“Get on my horse.” Mikasa said, watching as the warrior’s horses pummeled the dirt with their hooves, as the riders screamed and shouted euphorically, as two of them, archers, nocked their arrows “I’ll stall them. You escape.”

“You’ll _die_.” Eren said sternly, not looking at her.

Why was he such a proud, stupid, idiot and blind asshole.

“So be it.” She answered.

Armin didn’t know what he felt then.

He felt something in his thundering heart. Something primal.

It must have been the fear and his nerves. The tears burning his eyes, the shame of letting them pour, the shame of his weakness and cowardice throughout this whole mission, or any other dangerous encounter he had in his life.

The shame of what his grandfather would say, knowing what he was about to set in motion.

The blonde, crying and screaming, stopped his trembling only to grab his bow and arrow, pull the string for every bead of sweat, every tear, every drop of blood, every cell and organ and tissue that he was worth, and then shot the arrow.

It connected with the closest rider’s throat.

And Armin didn’t blink at the eruption of blood, or the body falling and dying on the ground, or at the image his brain crafted of the broad-head of the arrow exploding the warrior’s Adam’s apple and tearing through his windpipe, blocking blood and saliva and bile and air.

Instead he just screamed.

“MIKASA, GET ON THAT HORSE!”

The girl complied unquestioningly, trusting Armin’s instincts, his will to survive.

Unlike her brother, who just stared, agape and confused, at the dangerously approaching warriors and at his sister as she dashed towards them without any hesitation or fear.

The warrior closest to Armin’s victim swung at Mikasa with his halberd, but she dodged and chopped one of his horse’s legs clean off, making it fall with a high-pitched neigh, fortunately over its rider.

“Eren, c’mon!” Armin called abruptly, grabbing him by the wrist and running towards Mikasa’s horse, mounting and bringing him up with him.

“MIKASA!” Armin screamed, craning his neck to look back at the girl, watching as the steed stormed off at her command, running past them, “THROUGH HERE, MIKASA!” the girl looked back, to see the blonde stretching an arm to his left – to the forest.

She followed.

And then, as he felt Armin kick at his horse, Eren started putting the pieces together.

The numerous warriors and trolls on the battlefield.

His already retreating comrades.

The dragon attacking where they had planned of heading.

The archer’s death. The new horse. His friend’s sudden resilience.

“You want to flee.”

Armin didn’t respond, eyes set ahead to where the blonde believed their survival was certain.

“You do… Armin…?” Eren growled disbelievingly “Is that your plan…?!”

He felt the blonde tense up in front of him, “It’s the only way.”

Eren frowned deeply, “Bullshit! There’s always a way. And if we can’t find it, it’s because we’re not thinking. Didn’t you say something like that?!”

“That dragon’s blocking our ‘other way’, Eren!” he shouted “Look around you! Look at _all_ of this! What other choice do we have, aside from this one?!”

Armin heaved and hiccupped. He was crying again. And Eren realized the level of his friend’s fears and desires of survival. Even if he had to live as a deserter, a coward, a dishonorable man, he seemed satisfied with just the certainty that he would live.

“I don’t want to die, Eren! I don’t… want to…!” he wailed “And I don’t want you or Mikasa to die, either…!”

Eren fell quiet faced with Armin’s raw feelings.

He struggled to find options.

They could wait it out; somewhere in the forest… and then head off again… but they would have to ultimately face the army and try to sneak past it, and only then journey back to Sina. And would do it all with little sleep, unkempt injuries and no food.

They could leave their current horses, sneak around the camp again, then make the journey back to Shadis on foot, or on horse if their lucky and find them. There, they could rest and heal and then head off.

But they would most likely be found and killed before they even left this camp in the state they were in.

“They’re running away – leave them!” Eren heard a warrior bark behind him.

“Fucking cowards!”

The word made Eren cringe and frown, touching his forehead with Armin’s back, bobbing as the blonde still silently cried.

He didn’t like to think he was such of thing; he believed he was quite the brave man, since he’s done so many courageous things in his life… protecting his friends, acting as the strong-headed one to support his comrades when fear pressured them… even recklessly risking his life for the sake of one girl he didn’t even know.

But then there was the family he couldn’t protect. The dragon and warriors he couldn’t kill. The promises he couldn’t keep. The mission he couldn’t complete.

The fate he silently and unconsciously accepted.

 

* * *

 

The sun shone brightly beneath a layer of grey clouds. Flocks of birds warily soared the sky, a stork slowly flew towards its nest atop the stone giants that were Sina’s watchtowers. Smoke columns could be seen in the distance, hazy swirls reached the encampment outside the castle, carrying its burnt and perturbing fragrance and puffing it at the swaying banners and red and white canvas of the neatly aligned tents.

On a bigger tent, the superior officers, namely Commanders Erwin and Pixis, could be found amidst maps and letters, the Lieutenants Levi and Ian Dietrich and Squad Leader Mike Zacharius present as well, the men’s respective team members close by either with them or waiting outside.

As the morning coursed, the 104th arrived.

Group by group, fingers limply holding their horse’s reins.

There were bags under their sullen eyes. Their bodies were listless, blood a tarnished beige color against their skin, uniform or bandages, if there were any.

242 trainees returned in total, Levi counted, an hour after of the first group’s arrival.

He noticed all of Hanji’s squad members had survived.

He noticed, too, that Hanji hadn’t arrived yet.

Erwin and Pixis had offered a congratulating speech to the brave survivors, granting them a much needed day of rest and heal, advising them to relish the presence of their families and loved ones; but ordered them to join the vanguard next morning.

Jean had left the moment he had arrived, begging for permission to take Marco, breathing faintly in his unconsciousness, to the medical tent. Given the horrific injuries, he was promptly relieved and escorted.

He only released the breath he had been holding in when the physician told him Marco would survive.

His wound would require meticulous care and quite the time period to completely heal, but he would survive, and that alone lifted a humongous boulder from Jean’s shoulders and poured enough energy on him to leave the medics alone, feeling weightless and more tired than he’d ever been.

He went home, knowing his mother must be miserably weeping on the floor, being the hopeless worrywart she was, all because he had wrote to her, announcing the mission he’d been assigned to.

She welcomed him with crushing, desperate hugs and kisses and wails, as was expected of a mother that could hold her war-torn son again.

And Jean accepted it all.

He let her help him out of his armor and ready a bath and supper for him. Afterwards, he crawled to his bed, cherishing the familiar scent, sheets and pillow for only a few seconds before falling into a deep slumber.

Connie and Sasha were different.

The boy felt tears prickle his eyes the moment he saw her, and never thought her as being as beautiful and unique as she was now, with her hair shooting out of her messy ponytail and fringe, her eyes wide and red as her tears washed away the dirt and ash from her round cheeks as she looked at him with longing relief.

He ran at her and crushed her in his hug, and she in hers, and Sasha sobbed abundantly as she remembered the boy could’ve not survived that hell, but he did, and he was here - right here - alive and breathing and crying quietly against her neck, his shoulders and back trembling with every whimper and rushed inhale.

Never had they imagined themselves sharing such intimacy and emotions.

They had always been about lough laughs and stupid, immature pranks and fart jokes, it had been so ever since they met all those years ago. Of course, when seriousness called to it, they were there for each other. But this was something completely different.

They learned, in mere seconds, what the other person truly meant to them.

How there was no Connie without Sasha – or vice versa. There simply _could not_ be such a thing. It would just feel empty and wrong and _sad_.

And that prospect terrified them. Never would they want to feel such emptiness in their lives. So they would just have to always keep an eye on the other.

Sasha told Connie of Mikasa’s insubordination, and confided on how she was unsure if she should confess it to the Commander or if she should keep quiet, for old times’ sake and for the slim compassion she felt for the girl’s bravery and dedication to Eren, even though what she did had been completely selfish and made Sasha and her comrades feel absurdly betrayed and distressed, since Mikasa left them to fend for themselves, they had no other choice but to run for their lives.

And many, many died trying.

One of her squad members saved her of that burden by explaining it himself.

Erwin, cryptically, remained calm, only offering a few understanding words referring to the girl’s action and ones of gratitude for the trainee’s report.

After that, Connie told her to put the matter aside, and invited her to his home, since hers was on the outskirts of the woods and she was just too tired to make a two hour walk, advising her to write them about her safe return and visit when she could instead.

Connie’s family welcomed them warmly and glady with food, a warm bath and spare, clean clothes. They also prepared the bed on the guest room for Sasha to which she sluggishly walked to, later, after writing the letter and sending it by raven, and after dining and bidding goodnights.

She stared at the empty room with its greyish walls and creaking, wooden framed bed, feeling memories flash in her head. It made her grow cold and terrified of the idea of battling these memories on her own.

She grabbed her pillow and padded towards Connie’s room.

He was feeling the same hesitance as her.

They managed to squeeze in in his bed, her back against his chest, his hand tightening around her waist when his nightmare worsened, her body curling up to his when it was hers.

 

* * *

 

In the next morning the trainees were graced with the sudden announcement, by Commander Erwin, that their enlisting ceremony would take place tonight rather than in a month, saying it sounded ridiculous for them to return for a last month of training after partaking in a true military experience; they had more than proven that they were ready.

This, of course, left them all under a new, undesired wave of stress.

They didn’t want to think about soldiers or wars or missions… they wanted to help their mums and speak with their dads and drink and talk with their friends, or stay loyally beside their bed in the medical tent, or buried under the sheets, trying to claw out the images of their deaths with the heels of their palms against the pits of their drenched eyes.

They wanted to breathe. They wanted to smell and touch and taste and see. They wanted to cherish this gift – _this life_.

But Erwin Smith forced bravery unto them.

Because he knew that the world didn’t stop, there was still a war going on, a country and its citizens to protect.

And they needed them.

So, in that chilly night, the sky blanketed in clouds, under the light of flickering flames of pyres and close to frenetic, dancing banners, they faced the three Commanders and their lieutenants and teams, along with a few Squad Leaders, like Levi, Ian, Mike, Nanaba and the recently elected Squad Leader Keiji.

Erwin Smith was the first commander to speak, needing to congratulate the premature soldiers and honor those who have sacrificed themselves to achieve this result.

Like Hanji Zoe.

Like Thomas Wagner and Mina Carolina.

Like Eren Jaeger and Armin Arlert and Mikasa Ackerman.

Like all the 128 trainees, and their Squad Leader, that the Commander deemed deceased, even if that could very well not be the case, since they could have had trouble reaching here, or have been recruited or enslaved by Savages, or have deserted.

But the Commander considered them dead none the less.

And as his baritone voice rung in the atmosphere as he talked of a scout’s cunning and bravery and the dangers he experiences as he undergoes unexpected circumstances, or watches his family and loved ones die before him, and can’t do a single thing to help other than carry on with the mission, as the Commander said all of this, making an absolute shit job of persuading the trainees into joining his military branch as he presented the Scouting Legion as the suicidal military department, said trainees couldn’t do anything but watch and listen attentively and quietly.

They were afraid. They were nervous. But, most of all, they were feeling regret for wanting to become a soldier.

They had no idea what war truly was about.

They heard rumors. They visited a military camp.

But nothing could have prepared them for war. No training, no talking, no witnessing, no nothing.

Nothing could have prepared them for all the screams and blood and loss and horror. All the men, hell-bent on killing anything that does not share their colors; war is hell, it’s beasts against beasts and nothing can ever prepare anyone for something like that.

“Knowing these discouraging facts, anyone who does not wish to join, please stand aside.”

And perhaps it was as they thought on this, that they did not move.

Of course, there were others who wished to have at least the slimmest chance of survival by joining the Garrison, rather a pawn than suicidal, they thought. So with terror in their eyes and sobs stuck in their throats, with fearful strides and ashamed, hunched shoulders they walked away.

But sensibly seventy remained.

Standing still, feet frozen in place despite the tensing and shivering in their muscles, just begging for them to run away. Scared, trembling pathetically, crying silently if they could not take the burning in their throats. White knuckles on their quivering fists, bared teeth clattering as horrified breaths came in and out.

But they were standing still.

Because their courage was bigger than their fear.

Because they knew this was the right thing to do; because they had people to protect and part to play in this war that they simply couldn’t ignore now that they were fully involved in it.

Because Jean knew this was what Marco would do.

Because Connie wanted to protect his family and friends, and Sasha did too.

“I like the look in your eyes.”

Somewhere, in the corners of their memories, Mikasa’s words played like a faint whisper.

_“A choice like this is something you shouldn’t force out, it will come eventually depending on what you believe in.”_

“I salute your courage, and bid you all welcome to the Scouting Legion.”


	10. Lord Reiss

 

**Chapter Nine: Lord Reiss**

 

Days turned to nights. Rain wetted the world and thunders shook the sky as a black blanket of clouds loomed over the realm. Muddy puddles and glimmering green crops on the land, boots, chariot wheels and hooves splashing wet stone pavements, water sliding down tiled roofs and tapping windows.

In public settlements like stores and taverns, word spread like wild-fire of Sina’s victory over the Savages. And, of course, of Stohess’s destruction and all the dead, but the people emphasized on the _victory,_ of the retreat of the army - because that meant peace, even if temporary.

The Savage army’s true whereabouts was still to be publicized, but for now the people could breathe.

After idealistic clashes, a nine month old war, a regicide and a siege and massacre, they breathe and cannot taste the ash.

But the city of Sina buzzed in chaos. Taverns, inns and shops in the marketplace were all rumors, not only of the war’s outcome, but of unbelievable things, too... things for skeptics and heretics, things from dreams and tales. Things of monsters. People saw the smoke and fire, rumors from Stohess’s region said that the battle had been nightmarish, that they refused to believe in the monster soaring through the sky, roaring and screeching and burning _everything._

Together with that faint whisper of a werewolf sighted on the road a month ago, and a fresher rumor of two murdered soldiers in the valorous Reiss Manor enshrouded in similar mystic conspiracies; these were just too many rumors of the same kind. The very ones the Church repented, from the literature they banished and censored, from preaches of believers they hunted and tortured.

The people weren’t happy to learn they had been wrongly punished.

Started whispering poison and planning riots.

The Inquisition struggled to maintain the iron fist over the people, hunting down these new ‘heretics’, imprisoning them in underground dungeons, with no food or drink and barely any clothes, before bringing them to their hellish tortures and then burning them on a public square - warning flames, ashes of martyrs.

They worked with fear like they always did, but forgot they felt it too.

The first riot occurred inside their church. Seven priests were butchered in the altar, screams breaking the eerie silence and bouncing against dark walls and windows, blood on robes and cold stone floor.

Eventually, the Military Police arrested the four rioters and closed the church to clean the crime scene and bury the bodies.

Only three mere days after the Battle on Stohess, rumors had burst and an Inquisition had been challenged.

* * *

 

Commander Erwin Smith resided in his house’s office, in the noble district. Scrolls and dusted, beige parchments littered his desk. His quill bruised his journal’s pages with black, delicate calligraphy, the tempest outside muted by his concentrated scribbling. A candle melted inside his lamp, casting shadows on his face and hands and over the creases and foils of his white shirt.

He detailed his plans now that the Savage attacks had receded, intending to dispatch squads to scout the battlefield and possibly track the Savage’s whereabouts. He also wanted to relieve the vanguard, return them to their homes, if circumstances allowed it.

He was well aware of their weariness, but if the Realm were to need them here, that’s where they would stay.

He had also revised the Scouting Legion’s state.

Military-wise, they were in quite a drastic situation with all the casualties they suffered. Sure, they’ve just recruited seventy-two new scouts from the 104th, and new recruits were enlisting on Rose and Maria Headquarters from other training camps, but that couldn’t possibly hope to refill the gaping hole on their manpower.

And Erwin Smith really couldn’t find comfort in the possibility that he wouldn’t require many men after the Savage’s retreat.

And on the other hand, their economical hindrance was as expected - wars aren’t cheap, as is common knowledge. A lot of supplies to purchase for smelting new weapons and armors, they’d probably also require the breeding of more horses, the ones the trainees brought belonged to Shadis and would soon need to return to their owner. They would also need to eventually renovate HQ for the newcomers.

He would need a loan from the High Constable, and the Scouts were already costing the crown quite a bit of coin due to their constant suicidal missions…

With a slow furrow of his thick eyebrows and a slight turn of his neck, Erwin quizzically set down his quill when he heard the abrupt, loud and impatient hammering against his door.

For instances he was about to blame the exterior storm and city noise, when the knocking echoed again through the house.

“Military Police!”he heard, “Lord-Commander Erwin Smith, open the door!”

He scrunched his nose, his dusty-golden eyebrows casting a shadow on his azure eyes.

 _‘I guess my time’s over.’_ His thoughts and face were devoid of bitterness or worry _‘Still… three days, Nile? That’s quite the delay.’_

He dragged his chair, smoothed his clothes, and strode towards his front door, his footsteps silent over the carpet on his dark hallway as he walked past his bedroom, the kitchen and dining room and then eventually his hall and front door, vibrating as another sequence of rude knocks sprung from outside.

“Erwin, I know you’re awake, open up! It’s Nile!”

He opened the door and offered a neutral expression at the other Commander and his five accompanying knights, cloaks soaking against their wet armors.

“Good evening, Nile. Sirs.” He said as he bowed his head.

“Erwin Smith,” Nile said, scowling conspicuously, ignoring trivialities and barking over the crashing water and rumbling thunder, “With the power of authority conceded to me as Knight and Lord-Commander of the Military Police, I hereby declare your arrestment for plotting without the High-Constable’s admission, and abusing of your power over Sina’s defenses under times of war, risking the safety of this castle and its citizens, and the lives of your subordinates.”

Erwin hummed quietly, relaxing his features. He could taste in Nile’s words how much he was enjoying finally subduing him, he saw the sparkle in his eyes and the malicious, subtle, almost unnoticeable, quirk at the corner of his lips.

He opted to smirk too, “I’m not allowed to say anything in my defense…?”

“You’re allowed to remain silent.” He looked over his shoulder to bark again “Cuff him!”

Erwin didn’t protest when two knights approached him with rusty, cold chains and adorned his wrists with the rain-washed metal ornaments. He rolled his wrists and stretched his fingers, chains clinking and whistling as he moved.

“Honestly…” Nile said mischievously “…you weren’t expecting to pull on people’s strings forever… were you, Erwin?”

The blonde smirked gently, “I was conscious of this outcome.”

“You still did it, though.”

“It avoided a siege.” He said wisely, broadening his smirk and tilting his head.

“Why did you do it?” Nile asked, bitterness in his curiosity.

“It’s a complicated and long tale. We don’t want to make the Lord High-Constable wait, do we?”

* * *

 

She arrived at Sina fairly early, three hours on horseback, a brief break for cheap beer and aged bread in between. She led her horse inside the vanguard’s camp, offering smiles and nods to those who greeted her or called her exhilaratingly, and trotted towards somewhere where she could stable her horse. Then, she walked calmly towards the map tent, stopping in front of the structure, staring at the layers of soaked white canvas, closed in front of her.

Inside, Levi’s monotonous, calculated voice echoed “That fucking idiot… leaving this whole mess behind for me to clean…” He sighed heavily, possibly pacing slowly and pressing his digits into his tense forehead.

There was a contemplative, prolonged silence.

 _‘Idiot…?’_ she repeated _‘Which idiot..?’_

Eventually, Levi spoke sternly again “First we need to scout the battlefield. Search for survivors, no matter how unlikely that may be, and track the Savages. Those were his final orders.”

By the disdain in Levi’s bored tone, she made a pretty solid guess on who he was talking about.

_‘What the hell happened? Did Erwin die?’_

She opted for that moment to ungraciously spread open the tent’s canvas, hunching and stepping inside, straightening her back to remove the drenched brown hood form her head, looking at them casually and amusingly as she set silence in the reunion between Mike, Nanaba, Levi, Keiji, Ian and Pixis, all looking at her like she were a vision, blazing their disbelieving eyes, freezing their hearts and minds.

Mike and Nanaba stared. Keiji looked stupid with his wide eyes and limp lower jaw. Pixis and Ian stared too. Even Lieutenant fucking Levi was stupefied, thin indigo strips gleaming in his widened, otherwise sharp and old, grey eyes, his whole body tense and still like stone.

“Oh, by all means, carry on. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” she said, hanging her soaking cloak and removing her equally soaked gloves, placing them atop a nearby table, and taming her damp and messy ponytail and bangs with her fingers.

Keiji was the first to speak, blinking his drying eyes and inhaling before blurting out an exasperated “S-Squad Leader?!”

Hanji grinned at him, hands on her hips, “Why hello there, Keiji! How are you fairing? Horrible weather lately, won’t you agree?” she said “But if you don’t mind me asking; what are you doing in a military reunion between superior officers?”

“I… a-after that battle and your… supposed demise…” he said hesitantly, keeping eye contact “I was promoted and took leadership of the squad…”

“Ooh…?” she chirped with an arched eyebrow “I wasn’t even off for a week and you were immediately promoted? Just how badly did you guys want to get rid of me?”

“I-It’s not like-”

“Didn’t you die?” Levi interrupted very seriously and very calmly and slowly, his eyes still very wide and his body still quite rigid. Such abrupt statement and unusual body language proved his prevailing shock.

At his unchivalrous question, she chortled.

“Close.” She said, pointing assertively at him before walking towards him “Speared a dragon’s eye and didn’t let go soon enough. It went berserk, flailing its head and raising its neck. I rolled down its back, got a few cuts and bruises… and then hit my head somewhere, and that’s where everything turned black. I suppose I lost my consciousness before falling to the ground. The warrior’s must have mistaken me for dead, lying unmoving and bloodied… so I waited until I felt the area was clear, managed a horse, then rode to Shadis’s castle, where I rested and healed before heading back here.”

Most members blinked confusingly at the simple explanation, like the occasion was an absurdly common thing to happen to anyone… meeting dragons and losing consciousness in battles and miraculously managing escaping alive.

“Pardon the delay.” She finished, setting beside Levi, crossing her arms across her chest and resting her weight on one foot. Her dark green shirt wrinkled and rustled as she moved, too loose on her, like her brown vest, and Levi cringed at the soft stains and tears from usage. Looking down, he could see the creases on her black pants when she tried to fit them inside her boots, which luckily fit her.

Loaned clothes, by Shadis, when she had had to discard her torn and bloodied uniform, he deduced.

He couldn’t see volumes of splints, so he only imagined ugly stitches and fading bruises, along with that small scar on her left temple, just grazing her eyebrow, and he wondered if she had made that while falling down the creature, cutting herself on some horn or scale.

“How the fuck did you manage a horse?” Levi murmured curiously then, narrowing his eyes and furrowing as he overcame his previous astonishment.

Hanji shrugged, “I stole one in Stohess, from the Savages. It wasn’t particularly hard… most of the warriors were trying to tame the dragon, so I had a pretty clear path.”

There was an uncomfortable, but justified, silence amidst the soldiers, stricken of the appearance of the death-cheating woman.

And then Mike chuckled throatily, his first prolonged and genuine fit of laughter in months, “You’re unbelievable. _This_ is unbelievable.” He said with his hands digging into his face, shaking his shoulders as he muffled chuckles.

Beside him, Nanaba smirked and slowly shook her head at the brunette.

Mike sighed longingly, removing his hands and walking towards Hanji, slapping her shoulder playfully as he smirked “During this war I had thought I had seen it all, Hanji. But this… kidding death… it’s absurd, I would have never expected that.

She seemed puzzled, tilting her head, “I’m not sure I follow?”

“But it definitely fits your nature.” He said absentmindedly, ignoring her confusion. He offered one final chuckle before removing his hand “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too.” Nanaba confessed with a smile.

“We all are.” Pixis said at the head of the table, fingers on its surface, arms tense and eyes sober, shrouded by his grayed eyebrows and all those wrinkles “And I do believe this deserves a glass of wine, but unfortunately there are matters that need our attention.”

“I thought you drank and commanded, milord?” Hanji teased, earning a stare by Lieutenant Ian.

Pixis laughed, “I wish I did, Squad Leader. It would definitely make work a whole lot more entertaining.”

She chuckled and nodded, “Definitely.” Then clamped her hands and asked, “So… what’s the situation?”

“Well, for starters, your Commander has been arrested due to planning without the High Constable’s consent. He’s not in jail, just under Military Police custody.”

“Is there a difference?” Levi asked. Hanji snorted and Mike smirked.

“Well… in one there’s piss buckets and hay sheets… and in the other there’s warm clothes and confinement to a room…” the Commander retorted and Levi huffed. Pixis then turned back to Hanji to judge her reaction.

“Why didn’t they arrest you, Lord-Commander?” she asked “You and Erwin had been tasked with castle defenses, his strategies are your own, no? You were involved, guilty as well according to MP’s… correct?”

“Erwin spoke in my defense. The MPs were very forgiving.”

“I bet.”

Pixis uncomfortably switched his footing, “They… do have a personal quarrel with the Scouting Legion…”

“I bet Nile jumped at the opportunity to arrest Erwin. I bet he drooled and hopped like a bitch.” Levi muttered, his arms crossed, “Senile, sleazy low life and his ridiculous excuse of a beard.”

“Aside from that, there was a murder in the church. Seven priests, stabbed by four ‘heretics’.” he explained “The Inquisition is losing its grip on the people, because the people are learning of the monsters… too many rumors around.”

“It’s all you hear in taverns and on the streets.” Ian said “The soldiers started it all when they returned from the forest, now the trainees are helping.”

But Hanji’s eyes widened excitedly, like a child gifted with cookies and ponies, a jovial blush coating her cheeks, a huge smile gracing her lips before she squealed gleefully. Pixis’s and Ian’s eyes widened, the other soldiers remained quiet and still.

Ah, how much they’ve missed this crazy bitch.

“That’s… that’s…” she sighed “That’s the most wonderful thing I’ve heard in the last thirty years…”

“Isn’t that a little bit too much?”

“Shut up Levi, don’t ruin it.” She warned vividly. The man’s expression remained bored. Hanji continued “Don’t you understand…? This means their wrongs will finally be paid… long decades of torture and hypocrisy… will finally come to an end… sure it’s going to be a massacre, many people are going to die and burn… but, as Erwin puts it, no victory without sacrifice, right…?”

“You’d lead this revolution, Squad Leader?” Ian asked.

Immediately, the dreamy and childish face evaporated, “Of course not. Not until this war is over, no. After that, I’d gladly slaughter all of those pedophilic, sadistic, greedy leaches.”

“We cannot let a civil war unfold.” Nanaba said “We cannot handle the dead or the demographic and idealistic tension.”

“We can’t fight two wars at the same time.” Keiji agreed.

“Erwin certainly wasn’t counting with this.” Pixis said “He had intended to publicize the truth about the monsters in a way that would prevent these conflicts… not spring them. But I suppose it can’t be helped. The situation needs to be contained, and we also need to learn of the Savage army’s location and condition, if we should prepare for a siege or any plot… or if the soldiers can return to their homes.”

“We’ll do our separate duties.” Ian said “As Lord-Commander Erwin had instructed, two scout squads will track the Savages, whereas Garrison troops will try to tame the people.”

“I’ll go, I’m familiar with the terrain.” Hanji promptly blurted, “I’ll need a new uniform, though. My other one was… quite ruined.”

They all stared at her voluntarism cautiously.

“Aren’t you injured…?” Pixis asked.

She shook her head, “It took me four days to return precisely because I was healing, Lord-Commander. I’m fully healed now, no fractures, sore muscles, bruises or infections. I’m ready and willing to go.”

He nodded, “Alright then, if you say so. I’ll trust you’re wise enough to judge your health.” he declared “Who’ll accompany you?”

“I’d wish to, milord.” Nanaba said, limping forward.

Mike’s head snapped in her direction alarmingly. Levi raised his eyebrows slowly. Hanji stared curiously. Pixis, Ian and Keiji merely watched.

“Aren’t _you_ injured…?” Pixis repeated.

“No, milord.” She answered curtly, straightening her back, her face impassive and serene as her calming, pale-blue orbs fix on the commander’s dusty browns.

“You haven’t been in a mission in a while.” Mike said calmly and slowly, knowing not to embarrass her, or himself, by bringing his personal feelings into a military reunion, swallowing his worry and need to snap at her recklessness, in favor of begging for her logic.

“I think I still know how to shoot and ride.”

“Can you even crouch?” Levi asked rudely.

She slowly turned to him, slightly tilted her head and said shortly “Of course.”

“But… your squad… it all died back in that attack.” Hanji reminded softly.

Nanaba sighed through her nose, feeling annoyance bubbling inside her and prodding her tongue. This was absolutely unnecessary, in her opinion. She lost a leg, not her skills, she’s still a capable leader a damn good shot, why are they hesitant?

“Who were the 104th’s top trainees?”

A silence settled. Hanji brought a hand to her hips, craning her neck upwards and bringing a pointer finger to her parted lower lip.

“Hmm… from lowest to highest in skills… Mina Carolina… Thomas Wagner… Daz-“

“Which ones survived?”

“Oh…” she furrowed in concentration.

Levi sighed, “Connie Springer. Sasha Braus. Jean Kirchstein. Marco Bodt.” He drowsily looked up at Hanji, feeling her surprised glare “I had nothing to do. So I informed myself of the new mutts.”

“Ah.”

Nanaba nodded once, swiftly turned to the brunette and said “There’s my squad.”

“Bodt’s injured.” Levi declared. Nanaba seemed unpleasantly surprised, “The dragon burnt half of his face, or so I’ve heard.”

“Poor, little boy…” Hanji lamented.

“He’s recovering.” Levi informed “His friend vehemently defended that he would return as soon as possible, even said he’d join the Scouts.”

“No matter,” Nanaba said to Levi “It’s a scouting mission… one less member isn’t going to affect much my performance. And since he’s willing to join, once fully recovered, I will gladly recruit him.”

The commander smirked and nodded approvingly.

* * *

 

Due to the receding of danger and the appearance of this storm, the vanguard soldiers had taken the habit of resting in their respective HQs, preferring stone roofs to soaked tents.

Headquarters were grey and sturdy looking military buildings protruding out of the walls, very far away from Military Police HQ, next to the king’s castle. While Scouts and Garrison HQs were dull and ugly, with moss and filth crawling up the eroded stones, MP HQ was pompous and majestic, and bristling and sparkling with its clean, white walls and windows and swaying, unicorn flags atop towers.

Mike listened to the rain. His comrades had retired for the falling night, after bowls of dense and unappealing stew and mugs of black beer. He could hear their snores ricochet with the dancing and cracking of torch fire and the swooshing of wind torrents against HQ’s walls.

He walked up a stairwell, reaching the Squad Leaders’ private quarters. His own room was along these dimly lit corridors, but he wasn’t searching for it.

A minute of booming footsteps and Mike reached Nanaba’s room. He knocked without wondering if she would be awake or not.

He heard the rustling of bed sheets and the whimpering of the mattress, the creaking floorboards through the void of her room. The doorknob clicked and the door opened, and Mike looked down at the surprised blue eyes and shadows dancing along her pale face, her white shirt messy from the bed, her pants’ right sleeve empty from her missing limb.

“Mike… hi.” She greeted quietly, supporting herself on the door “It’s late, what are you doing here?”

He sighed a laugh at her straightforwardness, lowering his eyes to his boots as he thought on how to phrase his motives without sounding too much like a hopeless idiot, and he wondered, for the first time, just how much professionalism would he throw away by doing this, how much of their friendship.

He hummed thoughtfully, still quiet and still finding a lot of interest in his black footwear.

“Uh… Mike?” she tempted, searching for his eyes “What is it? You’re uneasy, is something wrong?”

He briefly lifted his gaze, just a trade of cerulean glances, then he muttered “Ugh, n-no. Nothing’s wrong.” He said, possibly more to himself.

“Don’t lie to me, Mike.”

He sighed heavily, blinking before raising his head to look down at her “I’m worried about you, that’s all.”

There was a stunned lump in her throat at his sudden confession, so abrupt after his initial reluctance. She sighed too, annoyingly “That’s unnecessary.” she backed away from the door, grabbed her walking cane, and hopped back to bed, leaving the cane next to her bed-side table and sitting against the bed’s headboard.

“No, it’s not.” He argued, following her in.

Nanaba watched him close the door and furrowed suspiciously.

“I’m a veteran scout, a Squad Leader. Just because I’m one leg short it doesn’t mean I became any less skilled.”

He shook his head, biting back a snarl at her stubbornness. But he opted for a quiet approach, more in his character.

“Even with a fake leg… you still limp, Nanaba.” He said carefully and softly, his eyes gentle and his hands extended by his sides expressively “You’re slower and less agile, and you know that doesn’t work in a scout’s favor, in _your_ favor, in the slightest...”

She watched him intensely in silence, her hands on her thigh. He took that as a sign to go on.

“I understand that as long as you stay on your horse you’ll be fine. And the fact that you’re crippled doesn’t affect your archery skills, I’m aware…” he slowly walked to her bed, sitting down, the mattress sinking and singing under his strong physique. He faced her and went on with the same suave voice tone “… but what if you’re on foot… and need to run? Or what if someone gets close to you, what then?”

She listened calmly and quietly, and though through her eyes and soft furrow you could see her annoyance, she wasn’t sighing, or rolling her eyes, or ignoring him, but he doesn’t know if that is a sign that she’s listening, or if it’s just Nanaba’s characteristic maturity, where such acts of distaste were beneath her persona.

He kept those insecurities at bay, looking at her caringly.

He grew bold with her silence and decided to take it a step further, his pulse quickening in his strong neck and throbbing in his ears, like a quiet but roaring drum.

He swallowed and reached for her hand, grazing her bones with his beefy digits, “You understand, don’t you…?” he snaked his strong and big fingers around her slender ones, the harsh skin of his thumb caressing her knuckles.

“Your chances of survival would be… small.” He whispered, boring his eyes on their hands.

Looking at him, all hunched and gentle and caring, so broad and tall, so short and flimsy, his words like whispered honey and his hand like smooth, ticklish feathers, Nanaba had enough. She understood him, she really did, and she was glad he was so loyal and protective of her.

But she wasn’t a cripple.

_‘Except I am.’_

And she wasn’t weak. And she wouldn’t die.

Her hand jumped out of his embrace and both her hands hooked themselves on his arms, grappling him down on to the mattress, her shoulders and head making up for the support her missing leg would have provided when she climbed on top of him.

He yelped gutturally and froze at her action, eyes wide, fixated on her calm and determined ones, breath stuck in his lungs.

Slowly, she set her hands on each side of his head, and he felt intimidated under such intimate motion, her gaze capturing his like hypnosis, her thighs brushing his hips.

“… N-Nanaba… what are you doing?” he murmured incredulously, unsure of what to think or say or want, or where to place his hands.

Honestly, he had expected this outcome. Hoped for it, really.

He was fairly certain of a mutual attraction, and knew they only ever needed a reason to reach this point. That, and their military life never offered many opportunities for them. After all, relationships between soldiers weren’t very encouraged, especially during wars.

The prospect of her getting hurt had been a good enough reason for Mike. So he had come here with the intention of properly dissuading her, but to also finally have her like the woman he craved and admired.

But he had never expected for her to be so willing.

She sat on his abdomen, finding it difficult to stay on her knees, and opted to set her hands there too, flat on his stomach and feeling its warmth from beneath his shirt. Her eyes bore into his rising and falling chest.

While she contemplated, Mike decided to play along the lines she was thinking.

“Nanaba.” He said tentatively, rising to his elbows, then to an uncomfortable sitting position, hands slowly crawling up her thighs, past her hips, then loosely settling on her lower back.

The blonde adjusted herself on his lap and sighed under his touch.

“Nanaba.” He called again, one hand leaving the small of her back to cup her chin, tilting it so she would look at him “Promise you won’t go tomorrow. Promise me you’ll stay here, where it’s safe, and I’ll go in your stead.”

Same hand brushed past her jaw, her cheek, her neck. She blinked twice, feeling shivers on her spine, her back, her arms, warmth on her chest and face from his body, soft tickles on her cheeks and mouth from his breath, and on her forehead she felt his messy bangs as he got even closer.

She was feeling so warm because of him, her body melting and her eyes closing. She heard her heart in her ears, and she sighed again.

She turned her head and felt his lips on the corner of her mouth.

“You know I can’t do that, Mike.” She whispered, her hands crawling up his chest to cradle his face, turning back to him and backing away enough to speak and think and _look_ at him “The Scouts are my life, Mike. It’s all I’m good at, it’s where I learned and matured, and where I intend to die.”

“Nanaba…” he growled “… be prudent, please…!”

Her hold tightened, her voice strengthened, “You’re not going to stop me, Mike.”

His hands retreated to her waist and there he felt her hip bones under his tightened hands, lowering his head as he lost to her, her hands sliding down his face and stopping on his chest.

Stubborn woman. He couldn’t sway her out of this madness, and she didn’t seem to want to… so maybe she was proud, aside from stubborn. And though he understood her, knowing she didn’t want to be treated any differently because of her missing limb, he just couldn’t bid her wish, treat her the same way.

Not after his mistake and her almost death, not after her pain and his incompetence and cowardice, all the guilt that haunts him still, that she promptly forgave.

And certainly not after holding her hands, or sleeping by her side or playing guardian for a month or so. Oh, and certainly not after any of _this_.

“… But I can promise you that I’ll return, if that helps.” she whispered softly. She must have noticed his ceaseless worrying.

He raises his head to watch her with cloudy blue pools, softening his hold again, “It doesn’t.”

She tilts her head, snaking her hands upwards, “Too bad.” she smirked.

“Let me stay.” He said suddenly, then he worried that might’ve come out too rudely, so he added softly, “Please.”

Her response came in three seconds of silence, a bob in her throat, then a sigh and a kiss as she pushed him down onto the squealing cushion, drowning him in sheets and body warmth and dancing lips, fingers lost in hair strands and exploring skin as their night clothes crawled out of their boiling bodies.

* * *

 

Ymir was leaving Historia’s quarters, her quick strides echoing through the hallways perturbing her alert being, her throbbing head and erratic pulse.

She had taken the habit of frequently informing Historia of the country’s situation, of the war’s progression, the victory and Commander Erwin’s arrest, the murdered priests in Sina and, of course, of all the rumors of monsters from the soldiers.

Historia was very grateful of her work, and Ymir couldn’t really understand why she was doing this.

For the first time, Ymir wasn’t being selfish. No entirely, at least. Perhaps she was doing this to protect herself, because she was so lost in this whole werewolf and Reiss situation she would gladly accept any sort of guidance, and if protecting Historia could lead to answers, even if that wasn’t entirely implied, then Ymir would do just that. And she hadn’t noticed yet her plans for the future had completely changed through the course of the weeks.

And that’s how her life had been playing.

So she eavesdropped and reported, and Historia scolded but thanked her, and Ymir protectively alerted her senses around her, and the little heiress was none the wiser.

And tonight was a full moon. But this time, Ymir was prepared.

Melted wax and spiced venison and wheat bread leftovers stung her nostrils, the faint scent of barrels of red wine and beer, and the soapy smell of recently scrubbed wooden floorboards too. Her masters slept, she could hear some of their snores. She could hear the whispered conversations between guards, talks of fights and food and women. The rain bashed against the mansion consistently, and it unnerved her sensitive ears to no end.

She went down the stairs, reaching the Mansion’s first floor, its empty and dark Main Hall, a hallway to the kitchen and storages, another one to the library, many others to rooms she couldn’t remember.

Opening the rumbling, heavy wooden door, the winter air slapped her feverish cheeks and rain splattered against her face and chest, and the full moon chanted unto her bestial heart.

She managed to contain herself, avoiding yelling and panicking like last time. Her dilated pupils found a group of seven guards in the distance, and she sniffed others quietly patrolling the gardens under a torch’s warmth.

She slipped outside, carefully closing the large doors, and then ran along the mansion’s walls until she was in the dark and silence, away from windows or a guard’s sight.

She let the transformation take over. Surprisingly, it wasn’t half as painful as was the first time, since she was expecting the same overwhelming stretching and breaking, like she would burst, but instead she just felt discomfort and the familiar pain of anatomical rearrangement, and then it was over before she knew it.

Her vision, like last time, was still a dreamlike realm, with hazy lines and images with blotched colors. And her sense of smell was even more acute. She could smell rain-wetted tree trunks and leaves, mixtures of mud and grass, the moss on the eroded and humid marble of the fountains, the ale on a guard’s breath, the faint smoke and burned rags from torches and another one she couldn’t place.

And that was strange, because she could smell this, she wasn’t imagining it, but she couldn’t define it.

And that troubled her.

She looked around, the scenery blurring as she turned her big, muscular neck, and then took another long sniff. The scent came from above. Her throat vibrated and her ears clasped against her skull, her lips snarling and her nose twitching as she pondered this.

She found herself wanting to dig her black claws onto the mansion’s stones, but decided against it because the dents and scrapes on the wall would just spring more rumors and investigations, and the people were already inclined to believe in monsters, they didn’t need to know they sheltered one.

She remembered just how far she had tossed that soldier, a month ago, and figured she might as well test her strength.

A few steps back for impulse and then a jolt through her thighs and she found herself jumping so high she thought she would crush her legs once she landed. But she didn’t, landing with a loud sound atop the mansion’s ceiling and cracking tiles and splashing water under her paws.

The smell was getting stronger now.

It smelled of snowflakes and honeyed peaches.

_‘That’s one weird combination.’_

On all fours, she started twisting her head about and sniffing repetitively, walking and following the scent.

Snowflakes and honeyed peaches turned into a scent she was fairly familiar with.

_‘Historia?’_

Under her paws she could tell the unevenness of the ceiling, and she found herself facing a tower, rain washing the tiles on its cone ceiling and tapping the window.

And she snorted.

_‘Of course it smells like her. These are her chambers.’_

She jumped towards the tower’s ceiling, almost slipping and falling but hanging on by clumsily digging her claws deep into the tiles, and she hoped this wouldn’t come back to haunt her.

She carefully lowered herself, peering inside the window, upside-down as she was.

Curtains. White, she knew, but black behind the lidded and wet window in that dark room.

And that surprisingly frustrated her as she watched her blurred, disfigured reflection, her bared teeth, her dark and soaked fur, her small, dark eyes and her big ears turned to the sides, as she knew the little girl that was sleeping inside this tower, as her so familiar smell of fresh apricots and oranges, she was certain, faintly filled her through the glass and every other scent, and she wondered what would the petite, pretty blonde, blue eyed heiress think if she were to pull the curtains and gaze upon her, Ymir, the werewolf.

She growled lowly as she chuckled, imagining her squeal and her clumsy fall. And her face, oh her face would’ve been _priceless._

And then the curtains were pulled in the void silence of the dark chambers.

Slender and long fingers gently and silently tugged the fabric.

And the rain was silent and her body grew numb under the searing water, and all the smells of mud, grass, marble, moss and tree trunks were nothing.

She could only smell ice, frosting her nostrils and burning her lungs and freezing her insides until little shards poked at her organs.

And Ymir looked at the palest man she had ever seen.

Pale blue eyes, the color of an ice sheet. His lips were a thin line, his face was bony, all angles and jaws and cheekbones. And she grew even more gelid as she gazed at this corpse of a person, shoulders square as he held onto the white curtains, face and eyes impassive and unmoved as he stared up at a werewolf’s teeth and jaws, and Ymir was the one who was afraid.

She didn’t notice the faltering of her hold on the tower.

She fell and flipped in the air, her paws slashing at rain drops and air currents and carving three long strips into the wall, and she didn’t even think of how stupid of her that was.

She ignored the pale man as she desperately tried to hold on to something, anything.

Tiles cracked and exploded, and pebbles and mud flew as her paw tore a chunk off of the wall when she tried to grab it, water splashing everywhere, a panicked howl was muffled by the storm. Her claws marked the stones as she failed to hold on, and then she was falling, and she choked on rain water and her eyes stung from bolt-like droplets. Air shot out of her lungs when she collided onto the ground and crushed the earth, feeling mud on her soaked fur and her spine burning and her head buzzing.

But she had to move and hide.

One glimpse upwards and she panicked as she could not see the man in Historia’s chambers.

Who was he? Why wasn’t he afraid? Why did he seem dead? What was he doing in her room? Why couldn’t she smell him?

She ignored the dizzying questions and pulled herself up from the mud and water with a groan, and she started running, ignoring her pain, ignoring how she was already healing, focusing on guards, on smells and noises since her sight wasn’t all that good.

And she tore paw imprints into the mud and grass and almost crashed into a patrolling soldier. But managed to sneak behind him, careful as she stepped over mud and water puddles, and barks and pebbles that cracked under her clumsy, heavy paws, but she managed.

With one final rush through nature hallways and bushes, she found herself surrounded by tall trees, where the Reisses grew their lemons, apples, oranges and grapes, though the trees were mostly naked of fruit or leaves now, and just seemed like black, wet and slender monsters with many, many arms and claws.

She ventured deeper into these woods and ducked to sit to calm her thundering heart and think. Her senses were coming back, rushing with smells and sounds.

“So, _you’re_ who she picked?”

Ymir felt ice cubes grazing her throat, all of her muscles tensing as she quickly turned towards the sickening voice, finding the same face, same eyes, same thin lips now curled into a soft, defying smirk.

His purple robe didn’t seem wet. He didn’t seem tired from pursuing her, and his clothes weren’t disheveled and there was not a single blonde thread of hair out of place, slick against his skull, smooth and pale. His back was straight, his hands behind his back as he took three slow strides towards her.

And again he scared the shit out of her, and she didn’t even hear or smell him coming.

_‘Just what the fuck are you?!’_

“I don’t suppose you can speak, can you?” he asked casually, eying her jaws and analyzing her skull structure “You don’t seem like you can.”

Ymir growled, deeply and menacingly, drooling past her shaking, snarled lips and hungry jaws. She stood on two feet, back hunching naturally and long arms flexing and tensing, claws begging for use.

She was warning him. And she was angry that he wasn’t afraid, that she was the one who was terrified and clueless. And she was aching to tear him apart and _eat_ him, but couldn’t understand this deep, deep hatred for this man, an almost natural hatred, but she ignored that for now.

He wasn’t fazed by her offensiveness, instead taking one step closer and tilting his head, narrowing his eyes as he stared deep into her dark ones.

_‘What the fuck do you want?!’_

“… Ymir…” he murmured “… that’s an uncommon name. Where did she find you?”

_‘H-how in the f-fuck does he know my name?!’_

Ymir stammered growls and took hesitant steps back.

_’She? She, who, Historia?!’_

“No, my wife.” He answered, and Ymir’s growls immediately stopped as her small eyes widened.

This was Frendel Reiss, she concluded.

The esteemed duke that supposedly never left his quarters.

And he’s now calmly talking to her, as a werewolf, after previously being in Historia’s room, while she slept.

And he was reading her mind.

She slumped back again, curling defensively and touching her hands to the ground. He stood still, watching her amusingly, those stupidly pale eyes boring freezing pits into her own.

 _He was_ reading _her fucking_ mind.

He chuckled softly, a terrifying, deep and breathy sound, smiling lines adorning his clean and pale, shaved face, “Psychic powers are in my kind’s nature. They’re hard to learn, but with age and knowledge you can eventually grasp them.”

She returned to growling, holding back her bark, remembering the patrolling soldiers.

_‘Just what the hell are you?’_

He smiled again, “I’m Duke Frendel Reiss, head of the Reiss family, owner of some mead, wine, honey and beer companies, dear friend of the crown, husband of Beatrix and father of Historia. Pleased to meet you, Ymir.” He said with a polite bow “Who are you?” he threw back.

_‘If you know my name… don’t you know the rest?’_

One hand was still behind his back, the other curled and stretched his agile and slim fingers as he thought for an answer, “Well, no. It’s not that simple. Notice that just to learn your name I stared at you for three minutes. Learning more… would probably require hours and, quite possibly, a more physical approach.”

She huffed, _‘What do you want?’_

“A simple task.” He answered, stepping closer again, taking his time to cross the distance “I know Beatrix recruited you to… ‘protect’ my daughter.” He started, eyes fixated on the mud he stepped with his fine, black boots, “Her protectiveness is… understandable. She’s a woman, after all, and a mother no less. She’d do anything to safeguard her children, even ask for a stranger, _a werewolf_ , to do her bidding.”

Ymir didn’t like the way Frendel phrased Beatrix’s wish. Ymir wasn’t being Beatrix’s slave, and she definitely wasn’t being manipulated.

“But I can’t allow that. I’ve traced a perfect future for Historia and our family. A future where there’s peace and order and a just rule, and nobody needs to be afraid of anything.” He stopped in front of her, looking her in the eye and offering a smile “You’d like this future too, Ymir. You’re a werewolf. You don’t want to run, hide and lie throughout your entire life, do you?”

She growled and wrinkled her nose, _‘What are you talking about? What are you going to do, overthrow the monarchy?’_ she thought sarcastically, then added idly _‘Are you the leader of the Savage army?’_

Again, his fingers danced thoughtfully, “Yes, but no. The _Free People,”_ she corrected as if tutoring a child “have their own King. No, I’m just an ally. An ally with money and power, and together with the Free People, we’ll build a world of freedom and justice. Where the poor are fed and paid, where different religions aren’t forbidden and where people like us don’t need to hide.”

 _‘Sounds childish. A world like that doesn’t exist. Humans are jealous and greedy – it’s in our nature. There will always be men with power and ambitions, and there will always be pawns to do their will. There will_ always _be injustice.’_

“I never said I would make the perfect world. I said I would make a _just_ world.” He said knowingly, and her mind remained silent “And I want Historia in that world. I have a gift for her, I can make her better and superior, so she can survive better in this new world. Our kind is… how did you put it? Ah yes, _powerful and ambitious._ ” He sighed “Sadly, Beatrix… doesn’t share my opinion…” he chuckled murkily “…even if she’s ‘ambitious’ too.”

Ymir grew ominous, _‘What are you doing to them.’_

“To Beatrix? Nothing. To Historia, I told you already – I’m helping her.”

Ymir roared and spat in his face, uncaring for anything, moved by unexplainable rage. Her huge hand grabbed his neck, raising him in the air.

_‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HER?!’_

He kept on smiling, “Don’t make me repeat myself… please. And I really think it would be wiser if you let me down and calm yourself.”

_‘SHUT THE FUCK UP!’_

His golden eyebrows shook briefly and his face contorted “Please refrain from yelling in my head.”

Her eyes widened manically, and she felt her canine heart pumping ferociously, blood, liquid fire in her veins, and she opened her jaws and roared. Her muscles burned and her bones shivered, and her fur dried off from her steam and heat and raised itself crazily around her neck and back.

She turned around and threw him blindly. He grunted when the earth shattered under him and grunted again when he collided against a tree trunk, several meters away from Ymir.

She dashed at him, growling and barking.

He coughed and then sat against the tree. He raised his hand.

And Ymir felt like she had been enraptured in a bubble of void, stopping dead in her tracks, shaking with rage as she struggled to get past her shock and be set free of this trance.

He raised himself without much effort, his hand still outstretched.

“I can do more than just read minds, you know.” He said “Previously, I was using ‘telepathy’, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. And this… this is called ‘telekinesis’.” He finished softly, then lowered his hand, and Ymir crashed violently against the ground, bruising her jaws and almost breaking her hands and snapping her ear, and then Frendel flicked his wrist up, and Ymir groaned and growled as she floated upwards.

And when he quickly lowered his hand, Ymir crashed again, the earth shattering around her, mud and rocks on her mouth and eyes, her left shoulder awkwardly twisted and its elbow broken, bleeding against the rain and the wet ground. And she whimpered and squealed, like prey in a cage, and tried to flee and run away from him, more human than her, more beast than her, but all she managed were a pathetic crawl and soft groans, helplessly trapped in the same crushing and glowing bubble of nothing.

His boot smashed her head, and she growled as best as she could, looking up at him through mud and rain water, and she could see his icy eyes, his purple lips, his white skin and the blue veins around his neck and wrists.

And all this cold and lack of life was all so bitterly familiar.

“Look Ymir, it’s simple.” He said, no smiles or gentle gazes “You abandon Beatrix, or I’ll kill you. You’ll keep on with your duties with Historia, but leave our family’s business alone. She won’t learn anything of this world, or attempt at leaving this mansion. She’ll stay until she’s fit for taking over the family.”

And then he removed his boot from her head, and Ymir wanted to bite his foot off but couldn’t even manage a growl. And he smiled as he said, “And when this world comes to pass… and the new one settles… you could stay with Historia. She likes you a lot, after all.” He chuckled softly “And considering married life, children and business, she’ll definitely need a lover at some time, don’t you agree?”

* * *

 

After his mission that morning, Jean returned to Marco’s home. He wanted nothing but to return to his own, remove his new uniform and bathe, then eat and sleep the day off. But his friend was injured from saving him, Marco deserved to know what had occurred in his absence.

Sasha and Connie wearily followed, wanting to visit the freckled boy too, and their Squad Leader came as well to personally summarize the mission.

It had gone smoothly. Essentially because all they found was a desolate field of nothing.

Charred wooden catapults and tents, rotting corpses and deteriorating faces, food for crows and vultures. Troll and horse carcasses, flies, a stench of rot and decay the smoke hadn’t shrouded. And old blood and mud on steel, rusty from rain, on a vast, stretching sheet of ash the rain would still need to wash away.

And Stohess was just black, crumbling structures, broken windows, empty streets and dead bodies.

They stayed just enough to track the army, full aware of the disease positively tainting the air.

Splitting up, after twenty minutes of scurrying, they found a trail of multiple footsteps. It led to the forest, and the trail went on through shadowed lands and mazes of trees, and after following it for another twenty minutes, the trail ended.

With nothing in their power to do, they just deduced they ran off inside the forest, hiding in the mostly uncharted territory, perhaps travelling further through southern plains, or climbing up northern mountains. The Scouting Legion would just need to thoroughly scout the land, but for now there was nothing else they could do, so they returned home.

Nanaba had left the Bodt’s household shortly after explaining the expedition to Marco, politely denying his mom’s food and drink and then retiring back to Scouting Legion HQ to report to Levi.

And so the three fresh scouts sat by Marco’s table, his mom chanting idly from the kitchen, and they enjoyed bread, cheese, sausages and mead, their cloaks on their chair’s backs, their new swords resting against the wall.

“You’re going to choke, Sasha.” Connie commented to the girl as she wolfed down her meal.

She muttered gibberish in between bites, spiting bread crumbs and cheese on her plate.

Marco laughed jovially, and Jean watched with his head on his palm, muttering “At least some things never change.”

She swallowed audibly then took a long swig on her drink, finishing with a satisfied sigh, pushing aside the plate and letting her head fall loudly on the table. Her eyelids seemed heavy and there was a tired, happy smile on her lips.

Connie watched his friend close her eyes and wondered if he should allow her to sleep now, instead of at home, but decided to let her be. So he crossed his arms atop the table and rolled his neck until it cracked.

“So, uh…” he murmured, then turned to Marco “How’s your wound?”

“It’s getting better. The physician says just one more week and I won’t need any more bandages.”

He nodded “That’s good. But, you’ll need ointments, or something, right?”

“I’m already using ointments. Every morning and evening, when I change bandages.” He explained, fingers intertwining and untwining “But I’ll need to keep on using those, to quicken the scarring, as well as vinegar, to avoid infection.”

Jean watched and listened in silence. Sasha was breathing evenly, her head now atop her arms on the table’s surface.

“I see.” he murmured, scratching at the harsh, growing hairs on the back of head for a while, and Marco tilted his head with a smirk because he knew Connie was nervous about something he wanted to say.

“So, can we… see it?”

The boy laughed quietly, closing his eyes, his smiling cheeks adorned with freckles, “Well, I’d need to take off all of these just to show you… and it’s tiring to put them on, so I’d rather keep them for now.” He answered with a smile “Maybe next week.”

“Oh… okay.” He answered simply, lowering his head.

“It’s not pretty, you know.” Marco added, still smiling “It’s really ugly. The skin’s all torn and red, my eye’s all sunken, there’s no ear and you can see my teeth against the thin skin that remains of my cheek. Why would you want to see something like that?”

Jean silently watched Connie, arms crossed on his chest. The shorter fellow shrugged, still avoiding Marco’s amber eyes, “Just curious. Maybe it would look good on you… made you intimidating, or something.”

“Intimidating…? _”_ He laughed again, shaking his head, “Alright, Connie.”

The boy smiled embarrassingly, scratching at the table.

“You know… I’m itching to go on an expedition. I hate being completely useless like this, stuck in here.” Marco confessed.

Jean sighed, reaching for his mead “I would love being stuck here.” He took a brief gulp, eying the dusty green bottle as he swallowed “I’d trade horse shit and _this fucking armor_ for food, drink and clean clothes _any day._ ”

They laughed.

“But the uniform’s so nice!” Marco said in awe.

“Yeah, it is.” Jean agreed, setting the bottle down to fidget with his shoulder guards, his counters and his vambraces “But it’s itchy as fuck. And my balls have never been tighter.”

Marco laughed again, hand on his face. Connie seemed confused with his open mouth and his slight furrow, “I don’t think so… I love it.”

“Then you, my friend, have a very small pair.”

He threw bread crusts at him, “You stupid fuck.”

More laughter, and then, silence. Connie trailed the table’s wooden fissures with his dirty, chewed nail. Sasha breathed through parted lips, and the hazel eyed bow wondered if she was drooling on her new uniform. Jean finished his mead, twirling the bottle in his hand, and Marco watched him with a healthy hand on his burnt arm, over the bandages and shirt.

“Do you think they died…?” it was a very faint and soft whisper from Sasha’s mouth, and it startled them all.

“What the fuck Sasha, weren’t you asleep?” Jean cursed, massaging his brow, her sudden question guilty of his rudeness.

Connie looked down curiously at her eyelashes, shadowing her partially opened eyes, and arched an eyebrow, “What are you talking about?”

She drowsily pulled her head from her arms, unaffected by Jean’s outburst “Thomas… and Mina. And Eren, Armin and Mikasa…”

“Oh…” Marco said solemnly. Connie scratched his head again, looking away from the girl.

“Thomas and Mina were killed.” Jean said “Along with Franz, Dazz, Nik and the others. Hannah told me.”

Marco turned to him, “Where’s Hannah? Is she in the Scouts?”

“Franz’s dead.” He said, as if no more explanations were needed “She’s in the Garrison.”

“You think she would have joined the scouts if Franz were alive?” Connie asked.

“Well… they were a pretty noble couple.” Jean commented, looking away “I think they would.”

“I think so, too.” Marco agreed.

“Then…” Sasha whispered again “… what about Eren, Mikasa and Armin…?”

Connie refrained from answering, resting his mouth atop his linked hands, on the table. Marco chewed his cheek, looking down. Jean answered for them, again.

“If they haven’t shown until today…” he furrowed “… they’re most likely dead.”

Sasha seemed to panic with that answer, her eyes widening and moistening, her hands clenching and shaking “But…! Mikasa-“

“Is just one girl.” Jean said very slowly, his eyelids blinking and showing his golden eyes boring at Sasha’s wide and red light browns “Against thousands of Savages. Carrying Armin and _Eren_.” The name shook past his gritting teeth, a hand curled into a fist, and he felt tissue and fiber tense and vibrate beneath his chainmail and his shirt under it.

“Jean…” Marco murmured, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

It was no secret to no one of the boy’s feelings for the eastern girl, so this comment was particularly shocking, coming from him.

“She was… probably killed as she tried to protect that pitiful ingrate.” he glowered and growled “That… that sad, _sad_ brat… always preaching of vengeance and justice and shit… and then ends up dying.”

“We don’t know that!” Sasha pleaded. Definitely these weren’t the answers her ears had craved. A tear slid down her cheek, slipping past the glimmering pools at the corners of her wide eyes.

Jean breathed a somber chuckle “And I ended up joining the Scouts before that fucking asshole.” Jean rambled on.

“She better not be dead!” Connie blurted out, pent up with his Sasha’s sadness and Jean’s depression “Not after what she did… it… it had better not been all in vain.”

Both Jean and Marco looked at him curiously, blinking consecutively with tilts of their heads and furrows. And Connie realized that perhaps they didn’t know, that they hadn’t told them yet of Mikasa’s resolve that had condemned so many lives. And Sasha stopped whimpering and ranting beside him, to look at him with puffy and glimmering, stunned eyes and wet, long eyelashes.

“What did she do, Connie?” Jean demanded calmly after a while.

And they told them everything. The dragon appearance, Mikasa’s evident intentions, Sasha’s and everyone’s failed attempts at persuading her out of her blindness and selfishness, and then how thirty-six trainees, of a group of fifty, died because she had traded them for her ‘family’.

They didn’t seem angry because Connie and Sasha hadn’t told them. Maybe because this was so shocking. But mostly disappointing. And absolutely _enraging_ for Jean.

As much as he denied it, Jean was as much of an angered kid as Eren. He was completely intolerant to insults, lies and bullshit, and often relied to violence when utterly unnerved, which happened far too often.

So, learning this, they would expect the boy to scream his heart and lungs out, bleed from his eyes and throat, flip chairs and punch dents into walls until purple and red marred his knuckles. Of course, this was all exaggeration, but Jean was an exaggerated guy, so they expected him to, at least, yell and cuss.

Maybe even cry.

But he just brought his hands to his face, smudging his skin, stretching his lips, cheeks and nose, and disarranging his eyebrows and fringe.

And hysteric laughter echoed in his hands.

* * *

 

Cold air licked his face like a kiss from a blade. His cloak and armor were damp, and snow entered through the hole on the sole of his boot. He couldn’t feel his toes under his soaked sock, but figured that too much contact and they would freeze, and then he would have to amputate them.

But he was so tired he couldn’t even move a finger.

He was so hungry.

And so, so, _so_ cold.

He was starting to go numb. His tongue tasted like dirt, perhaps he should drink. But he didn’t have the energy to crawl over to their little stash and reach for their waterskin. He would need to wait for them, inside this little tent of tree barks and snowed foliage, under this bundle of tattered cloaks, these _rags_.

Wait for them, so they could help him.

Again.

Perhaps those two would be lucky. Perhaps they would hunt deer. Or some bird. Or a wolf. He would even eat _wolf_ if he had to… he was so hungry…

He had lost track of time, but he thought he had seen the third full moon through his desertion a few days ago, so perhaps it had been three months.

Three months. _Three bloody months_ in this loneliness, sickness, hunger and thirst, amidst all this snow and all these trees, avoiding cities and establishments, the latter because they wouldn’t want to pass out over steaming porridge and promises of sheets, cushions and a fucking _ceiling,_ since they had no money to pay for it.

He remembers a highwayman, once. Eren killed him promptly, of course, and they took his money and anything else they could salvage.

But with that they had bought food and supplies, and there was nothing left to spend for a bed.

That had occurred in their first weeks of desolation.

Or had it been sooner?

Was it before, or after, they had to eat Mikasa’s horse?

No… that happened recently, certainly, a month after they encountered Savages and ran for their lives, through the forest and up mountains, meeting pines, snow, wolves and bears.

So the highwayman was in the beginning, Armin was sure.

And somewhere in between, he remembers they had traded Eren’s horse to some farmers, for vegetables and bread. And, of course, when night came, they returned to same farmers to steal money, more food and their horse back. But it eventually died when they reached the mountains, couldn’t take the weather or the hunger, sadly.

Armin focused his hallucinating, screaming mind when he swore he heard hooves. Slow strides, digging through snow, followed by a deep grunt.

And he started to panic.

He was too weak. Food and drink he reserved to Eren and Mikasa, who were capable of fighting way more proficiently than he was. His bow wasn’t nearby, either, taken by the others for hunting.

He heard a heavy weight and boots stepping on snow, furs and fabric rustling together with steel plates as strides brought this intruder through a path of white towards him.

Armin was famished and thirsty and sick.

A solid punch could kill him.

But he could use the knife in his shaking hands. Play asleep, control the fear and shaking, avoid sobbing or clattering his teeth, just until he was close enough so he could slit his throat.

He just hoped the blade was sharp enough.

He was above him, he could feel his weight in the air, hear the cold puffs of air through his mouth.

A sword left a scabbard with a faint, metal chant, and Armin realized just how flawed his gamble had been.

He felt the tip against his shoulder, then a boot forcing him to lie on his back and look at him.

He was enormous, broad shoulders carrying a barbaric-like, spiked and studded armor, furs around his neck from his warm cloak. There was a round shield on his back, along with a very big and seemingly sharp axe. His short blonde hair was impervious to the icy air, his jaw were square, adorned by a thick, golden beard. His nose was strong and made Armin’s seem feminine, his thin eyebrows were furrowed warningly.

And his eyes were too familiar to him. His whole face was.

“Greetings, stranger.” he said, gentle as he bore a sword in his hand and Armin’s fate at its tip, “You don’t belong here. What are you doing here?”

And then Armin completely forgot the sword and his possible eminent death, and his dazzled, cold-numbed and hunger-hallucinated mind was absolutely sure of something. The memory was real, another face was fresher, but he remembers those eyebrows and eyes on aged parchment all the same.

“You’re…” his voice scraped his throat and ice shards spiked his lungs, “… Reiner Braun…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTAN ANNOUNCEMENT!!!
> 
> This note will be referring to my as of late extreme delay on updating chapter 11. 
> 
> I've had school exams to study for and social life go in the way (almost creamed myself in an Arctic Monkeys concert eheh), along with a writer's block...and now I'm going on holidays to a place without internet, so it will be impossible for me to update. I'll be back perhaps in the middle of August, not entirely sure... but, I promise you this - I pinky promise that, when I return, I'll update two chapters in a row. Won't be really difficult since 11 is only missing half of the ending scene and 12 is well planned out in my head.
> 
> So, again, I'm incredibly sorry for my incompetence... and extremely thankful for all the kudos, bookmarks and comments, I love you guys btw.
> 
> Well, see you soon <3


	11. Change

Three months.

Eren barely noticed time flow by. He wouldn’t have, hadn’t Armin announce it.

Three months of nothing but blurs.

“Eren, look.” she quietly says, tilting her head at the trail on the snow, indents in the white blanket “Footprints. Could be an elk.”

Her hair is longer now, braided, hanging from her shoulder. It’s dark like charcoal, missing its onyx gleam, and her scarf is tight around her neck, faded and dirty, yet she insists on wearing it. She’s thinner too, with a more slender frame and protruding cheekbones, and he’s not sure how to name this feeling as he looks at her and realizes Mikasa doesn’t seem half as invincible as she used to be.

“Or a bear.” He finally retorts.

They fall silent, as they constantly seem to.

Sometimes he dreams.

Relives the carnage, sees charred flesh and bone. Feels the fire, tastes the ash, inhales the smoke. Hears the roars and the screams - he’s so weak, he thinks, otherwise the nightmares wouldn’t haunt him after such a long time. He won’t tell anyone, he doesn’t want to be a burden, not to Armin, who’s frail and has too much on his mind, and definitely not to Mikasa… that coward and traitorous bitch _._

Ice bites at his skin, and the mountain wind whistles and whips at the pine trees, at the snow and at his messy hair making it stick to his stubble. He tries not to shake or clatter his teeth as he slowly pads through the snow, longbow in his hands with an arrow nocked. His breath makes a pattern as he exhales.

“It could be dinner.” she says, watching as he grimaces “Beggars can’t be choosers.” she points out matter-of-factly.

He looks around through the maze of trees, bushes and snow, and scrunches his nose before grunting and following the fresh trace, hearing Mikasa tread behind him.

“I don’t think you fully understand what a _bear_ is.”

Mikasa sighs, “I’ve killed trolls, Eren.”

“I just think it’s not worth the risk.”

“You’d rather starve?”

“I’d rather keep my teeth. Bear steaks must be as soft as a rock slab.”

She tilts her head and arches her eyebrows once, mumbling some clever remark about arguable meat quality that he really doesn’t care about. The trace leads them deeper into the forest. Mikasa cuts marks into tree trunks in order for them to not get lost, providing a way out. It ends shortly after, in an opening in the flora, pine trees stretching high into the sky, rocks and bushes sprouting out of the snow.

There’s a black draft horse with its reins tethered to a tree. Here, maybe ten meters away from them.

It snorts and grunts upon their arrival.

“The hell…?” Eren breathes out.

Mikasa doesn’t answer, eying the animal doubtfully. Its owner can’t be that far away.

She unsheathes both her blades, “Look alive.” she warns.

Eren frowns deeply and flares his nostrils, swallowing his irritation on the fact that Mikasa had just given him an _order_. He readies the arrow completely, the string tensing and the bow creaking in his fingers. His heart is pounding in his ears, his lungs sting, he hadn’t realized he had started holding his breath.

Mikasa’s eyes dart around her, every tree a monster to her. She gets closer to the horse.

Eren notices.

“What-what are you doing?!” Eren whispers alarmingly “Get back here! Mikasa!”

She ignores him. She thinks she needs to check the horse.

Why?

Veins pulse along Eren’s temples, his muscles cringe and shudder. He is furious – what does she think she’s doing, the over-confident _idiot?!_ Doesn’t she know they ought to stick together, that they need to protect each other? Some genius she is, and he grinds his molars as he snarls in his mind, thinking how frantic she would turn if the situations were flipped.

And Armin wants him to forgive her. How can he, when all Mikasa seems to be is a mindless watchdog?

But when you’re drunk on rage you forget pain is the hangover.

Mikasa twists her head when she hears an indelicate brush on the foliage.

She gasps when the arrow pierces her chest.

 

* * *

 

“Stand up.” Reiner Braun calmly orders, the tip of his sword just grazing Armin’s neck. It’s shaking with tension, his throat bobbing against the blade’s cold silver. The frail blond wheezes when the warrior’s foot presses against his torso, a warning, before he steps away, his eyes trained on Armin’s gleaming blue orbs.

“Let go of that.” he says, pointing with his head at the dagger still in Armin’s hands.

He immediately obeys.

“No funny business, will you?” he adds good-naturedly.

Armin nods and does as he’s told, shuddering and trembling, the cold harsh against his papery skin and frozen lungs, his torn and dirty cloak dancing to the wind, doing nothing to protect him from the gelid weather.

And he’s so hungry and thirsty, so weak. It all almost grants him the courage to lie back down.

But he doesn’t, adopting a submissive demeanor, hands up, palms facing the kingslayer, back hunched as he shivered in the wind and struggled to breathe.

“Good boy.” Reiner smirks, his sword aimed lower, his stance lazier, “Now tell me lad, who are you and what are you doing all the way up here…?”

Armin shivers brutally as his bones threaten to crack, and his heart raged against his ribs as he realized he was a few sentences away from dying, and the tall warrior looked down at him with all the calm in the world, a spark in his eyes of the certainty that he held the small blonde’s future at the tip of his fingers.

“Hmm, I- w-well…” he stammered. He was so afraid.

And so cold and hungry. So tired.

Reiner tilts his head silently.

“… my name’s Armin Arlert… I’m a pilgrim.”

“Hmm?” he arches an eyebrow “A pilgrim, eh?” he scoffs “You look a little lost, pilgrim… there’s literally nothing here but snow and wolves.” he answers, smirking as he looks down at him, “Also, are you that in love with Lord-Baron Keith Shadis’ uniform that you’d take it to your pilgrimage?”

Armin blinks snowflakes away from his eyelashes as he swallows dryly and feels his cheeks burn up.

“You… Shadis trained you…?”

“Of course. There aren’t any other training camps in Sina, if you recall.”

“What about a lord’s castle? They offer military training.”

“They train knights.” he says “Not soldiers.”

“…right. Sorry, my brain’s not... it hasn’t been very functional, lately.”

“It’s okay. I would be pissing my pants too if I were you, _pilgrim._ ” he snickers, “Did you even try?”

Armin frowns. Never has his wit been made fun of. It makes him feel surprisingly perplexed, considering the situation he’s in, though he obviously hides it.

“’Cause what it looks like to me, is that someone ran off, tail between his legs… then ‘sadly’ got lost in the mountains… am I right, you miserable rat?”

Armin frowns as he tries to steady his shaking jaw.

He knows what he is, and he knows why he did what he did, he thinks as he licks his chapped lips and inhales sharply, ignoring the ice shards on his lungs. He knows the risks they took and the fate they sealed, he knows they traded honor for freedom, and he was about to just throw it all away because of some cheap lie he vomited at a wanted criminal.

_Wanted. Criminal._

He thinks Armin’s an idiot, and a weak coward.

Armin bites his tongue at the realization that he can prove him wrong.

“What does that make of you…?” he boldly asks, “Ser Reiner Braun… murderer, deserter, _kingslayer.”_

A furious expression crosses Reiner’s face. He steps closer and digs his fingers unto Armin’s slim neck. Armin grips at his arm but doesn’t do much else, watching as the spark fades from Reiner’s eyes, as they grow dark and bloodshot the more he presses his neck, squeezing and bruising it as easily as one tears a rotten leaf.

“Do you want to die sooner, rather than later, worm?” he growls “If you know me so well, do you really think it’s wise to piss me off?!”

“For a heartless killer, you sure do not like to be reminded of your crimes…” Armin wheezes as he chuckles “The rumors do you no justice.”

For a second, his grip isn’t so vice-like, and Armin can breathe in.

“Drop the smart act, punk.” Reiner seethes.

“Why? I thought you’d enjoy the joke?” Armin gently asks “I’m trying to be sympathetic, I thought you’d like that… I like to think people do things for a reason, and I really want to know what was yours!”

“Stop talking, you fucking rat!”

He squeezes hard again, Armin feels like his throat is going to explode.

“I-I knew Annie!” he gasps, fingers digging into Reiner’s vambrace “God, I knew her! I don’t think she’d kill the king!”

“What?” his ringing ears faintly hear before he’s unceremoniously dropped onto the snow. He coughs and fights to catch his breath, gently prodding at his surely bruised neck.

“How did you know her?”

The question was dark, uttered from the depths of Reiner’s deep voice, a threat, and Armin felt like a wounded deer under a grizzly’s gaze.

And despite everything, Armin almost smirked.

 

* * *

 

Eren’s first impulse is to dash and help her.

Whatever resentment he had for Mikasa were completely ignored the moment she got hurt, bleeding and groaning, cocooned in cold, a bleary crimson shade tinting the snow around her. But she just crouched and ran behind the now raging horse, just blatantly ignoring the arrow protruding from her chest.

So quick to think on her feet, Eren’s ashamed of himself.

“Eren, duck!” Mikasa commands.

Eren lunges into the ground, the arrow swiveling through where his head used to be.

A cuss is grunted into the wind. Leaves brush violently against each other.

The horse is squealing, panicking as it stands on its back legs, tugging on the reins, shaking the tree, rattling its leaves

Mikasa’s ears are ringing. Her chest is burning and her clothes are coated in blood.

She let go of one of her swords as soon as the arrow had hit her and barely managed to hold onto the other one.

She wants to check if Eren is okay - she really does. The urge to just turn her head and _look_ is so immense and hard to fight back she needs to clamp her jaws shut and grip her sword even tighter, knuckles as white as the snow she just painted.

She takes cover behind a tree, a few steps away, switches the blade from her right hand to her left, then bites her lip and grabs a hold of the arrow.

Eren is yelling into the wind. She hears running.

Her flesh tears and stings, she groans and bleeds, she frowns and fights to stay alert as she loses sensation on her clenched hand. The steel is just grazing the bones of her shoulder. Her armpit tears like fabric.

Another arrow is shot.

“Fuck!” Eren curses again, sounding further away.

Panicking, she rips it out with a scream and throws it on the snow, leaving her cover and dashing towards her brother.

“Eren!”

She sees him, now, right in front of Eren. Or _her_ , it’s difficult to tell, with that hood and scarf around their face.

They are very short, but dangerously agile, quick and clearly more skilled in melee than in ranged combat, punching Eren across the cheek after he stepped backwards twice and tried to retaliate.

Eren groans and staggers.

They are now unsheathing a short sword from their back.

“Get away from him!” Mikasa screams. Her wound is bleeding profusely, but she doesn’t stop running.

They are too quick. The attacker looks at her for a brief second, sword gripped tightly in their hand, their other reaching behind them, retrieving a dagger from the small of their back.

Their eyes are of a chilly blue color, and they enrage Mikasa.

She breaks with her left foot, snarling and baring her teeth like a beast, and attempts an upwards slash, holding her blade with both hands.

It happens in a flash.

They twist and block Mikasa with both their blades, sliding steel with steel to turn and kick Eren in the stomach. He wheezes, back-stepping. They shift their grip on the weapons, crouching and adopting a stance Mikasa had never seen before, blue eyes brimming and pale as they stare back at her, like a predator watching its prey.

Then they attack again, in a flurry of steel.

But Mikasa can be pretty fast herself, standing between this dance of death and her brother, blocking every move and retaliating in kind.

She feels blood along her chest though, warm and oozy, beneath her uniform. She feels it drench her shirt and damp her skin.

There are lights in front of her eyes, sweat on her temples.

She’s getting slower.

If Eren’s behind her, readying arrows or just catching his breath and waiting for an opportunity, she can’t tell.

She feels blood on her stomach.

She has one move left, or else she’s going to pass out and die in the snow at the hands of a faceless killer.

She screams and slashes horizontally, trying to behead them. And they duck, shift their hold on the dagger, twirl and move behind her.

“MIKASA!” Eren screams so loudly, her bones quiver. He’s stomping the snow, towards her, she thinks.

Grinding her molars and screeching through gritted teeth, tensing every piece of her and clinging to consciousness, Mikasa manages to duck away from the slash aimed at the nape of her neck.

Her braid is cut clean off.

She falls on one knee, buried deep into the snow. Her mind rages, her brain thrums, echoes and barges against her skull, and her chest hurts insanely, like embers crawling beneath her skin, scorching her lungs and heart, her flesh and bones.

The killer grunts, before huffing, air spat out of their mouth as they fall too, just behind Mikasa.

Eren is yelling, “I got you now,” he snarls, straddling their attacker, hands balled into tight fists, “- you son of a bitch!”

Eren punches. They dodge.

“STAND STILL, YOU FUCKER!” he screams as he pulls one fist out of the snow, aiming the other at their face.

He misses again.

As he is about to punch again, the killer, in one swift move that leaves Eren enraged and confused, angered at how easily this bastard is handling him, grabs his readied fist, twisting their hips until they release themselves from Eren’s weight, then rearrange themselves, holding elbows or shoulders until they are on Eren’s back, masterfully holding the brunet in a tight lock and just about to pop his shoulder out of its socket.

He’s cussing and grunting profanities as his tendons tear and his muscles twist – and there’s not a single thing he can do about it.

And Mikasa snarls as she stands up, breathless and bloodied, blinking away hallucinations as she trembles. And, with all of her might and strength, she walks towards this killer and digs her fingers into their face and forehead, and screams as she smashes the back of their head into her knee.

There’s a chilling, crunching sound. They don’t scream, just fall on top of Eren, seeming dead.

The brunet shrugs them off of him, like they were a plagued corpse, then quickly stands up, massaging his shoulder and catching his breath. Mikasa doesn’t move, her chest rises and falls, the back of her eyes burn, her lids are heavy, her limbs feel like a burden.

“I...” Eren breathes out, “I think she’s a woman…”

Mikasa slowly and lazily turns to look at him. He notices, somewhat impatient and annoyed under her gaze.

“W-what?”

She doesn’t have the strength to roll her eyes.

“Were her tits the only thing you were thinking about when she had you in that lock?” she whispers dazedly.

“I-ah what…? No, piss off!”

Mikasa exhales and closes her eyes.

“What were you even thinking doing something that reckless?!” Eren spits “Look what she did to you.”

He’s angry, she knows, but he’s worried too, she thinks. He must be - he’s walking closer to her, inspecting her wound, muttering rude apprehensions under his breath.

And it’s all kind of nice.

Mikasa blinks twice more before passing out into his arms.

 

* * *

 

In that clear skied and cold afternoon, the Fritzes, arrived at Sina’s iron gates, the visage of their pretty chariots and stallions the talk in the entire city. Music played, the marketplace vibrated with activity, meat on stalls, drinks on shelves in stores, apothecaries were open and general traders made a fortune. Smoke swirled away from chimneys. Citizens yelled prices, praised the highborns or murmured opinions, numerous guards watchful in the crowded streets.

The Church wasn’t present on the royal family’s arrival, bells quiet, priests silent, doors closed to the public.

Had been so ever since the murders.

The Church didn’t seem to like the military’s heavy involvement either, Garrison in every corner and MPs sniffing about more than usual, but had still to protest.

The royal family exited their chariots in front of the castles’ doors, horses stabled in the vicinity.

Robert Fritz, first of his name and heir to the throne, walked close to his wife, Lady Sybbyl, and his children – a boy with chubby cheeks and big grey eyes beneath a brown fringe, and a girl with pretty hair, a dress like her mother, a face like her brother.

Lady Melliever, the king’s sister-in-law, walked with her four girls. Her husband, Merek, was nowhere in sight.

The coronation took place in the throne room, the ironically uncomfortable chair set near the farthest wall, facing the open doors to the public. Beige stone railings marked hallways on either side of the room where military officers and noblemen stood, red and yellow tapestry on the ground, leading to the throne. The floor gleamed under the sunlight pouring in through the tall elegant windows, colorful flowers on various vases, set on balconies or around the room. The columns and walls were spotless, banners of the military, the royal family’s sigil and of Sina’s symbol, a profile of a noblewoman, along the walls.

Commanders Pixis and Nile stood out in the crowd with their uniforms. High-Constable Zacklay was next to the throne, close to the royal family, with his aged features and analytical demeanor, the High-Constable ring gleaming in his left index finger.

Levi analyzed all of this, bearing his usual unfriendly expression, standing in the sidelines, together with Hanji, Mike and Nanaba and their teams, his own actively whispering behind him.

“The northerners are so… hairy…” Auruo grimaced.

“Lucky them.” Gunther murmured “Do you have any idea how cold it is up north?”

“Bigass fucking bush they must have down there… argh, imagine the _women…_!”

“Shut up…” he said as he snickered “…we’re in the middle of a coronation.”

Erd slowly turned to look at them.

“I’m from the north.”

“Oh, we’ve noticed.”

“It’s rude to stare, Auruo.” Gunther said “Especially at cocks.”

“I’ve noticed because of his accent, you moron!”

Gunther snickered again and Erd sighed and rolled his eyes.

Petra mimicked the blond scout, “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Levi drew a miniscule smirk. Hanji giggled behind a closed fist. Mike and Nanaba don’t seem to have heard, avidly whispering at each other with serious faces and straight backs, and Levi betted his lunch that the new king wasn’t exactly what the two were so heatedly discussing.

He discretely grimaces, _‘Those nasty fucks.’_

After Levi’s unfortunate little intrusion on them, some time ago, in a cramped and dark barrack, Mike and Nanaba stopped trying to conceal their relationship. Levi still struggled to get that damn memory out of his mind, though.

Blinking away those thoughts, Levi glanced at Nanaba’s new team.

His eyes lingered on the new, rehabilitated member, the Bodt boy, next to Kirchstein.

From here, he could only see the pink spread of the twisted scar that haunted the right side of his face.

Levi had seen it in its full glory quite a few times… quite disgusting.

But a scar didn’t make him a poor soldier - three months of intensive care and precautions brought him back to good health and allowed him to excel as an exceptional scout - loyal, cautious, responsive to commands and faithful of his comrades, who all seemed to share these qualities.

Or so Nanaba pledged. Levi was still to assess to that personally.

But Nanaba wasn’t one to spill compliments, so it must be true to some extent.

He looked back at the coronation.

Robert sat by the throne, Zacklay mumbling monotonously next to him, preaching a speech about His Grace’s duties and requirements. By the end, he retrieved the golden crown and rested it upon Robert’s head, then he kneeled, the entire room and peasants outside kneeling too, and he praised, “Hail King Robert Fritz! Hail the king, and long may he live!”

And the whole room echoed.

“Long may he live.” Levi murmured.

Different king, same vows, he honestly thought this boring ceremony was unnecessary, vast was the list of important things they could be doing but instead are listening to a speech they’ve all heard before.

“You don’t seem very encouraging, milord.” Petra whispered, stepping next to him.

Probably had enough of the guys’ immature jokes by the stillness in her voice and the apathy in her features, hands behind her straight back.

Levi shrugs, “It’s because I’m not.”

She laughed through her nose.

“You offend the crown with your negligence, Sir.” she warned playfully.

He shrugged, “Not the first thing I’ve offended.”

Levi saw Petra’s smiling eyes and stifled giggles through his peripheral, auburn locks behind her small ear.

“Indeed.” She agreed in an amused murmur, turning his way, big brown eyes gleaming and brimming at him, “Kings, Commanders, Lieutenants, Priests… careful Sir, one of these days they may have your tongue…”

“If so, then you have orders to bring it back and sew it into my mouth.” He answered nonchalantly, eyes typically narrowed, cold and watchful on her face, his mouth a thin line before he muttered again, “I like to talk.”

She chuckled again, but her amusement was interrupted when King Robert rose from the throne, palms towards his subjects, silence filling the room.

It prolonged itself for a few seconds as the King stared at the tapestry beneath his fine winter boots, beefy hands clenched into loose fists by his sides. He glanced at his wife before speaking, booming voice resounding through the stone, one fist clenching tighter in front of him, his other hand grazing it in a seemingly nervous gesture.

“Dire times brought me to the throne,” he declared somberly, “Times of war and religious conflict... of murder and chaos, times that are shaping our lives, taking away brothers, cousins, uncles… _parents_ …” his voice rumbled with an irritated growl “… trading them with monsters from fables and songs.”

Levi slowly blinked, furrow discretely deepening.

“Times of war. My heart still aches knowing the man that once sat at this throne and wore this crown no longer walks this earth.” He furrows at his hands for a while before looking back up “A father for a throne,” He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head “Seems like a deal with the devil.”

Levi worked his jaw as he glared at his King and at his focused scowl, at his very straight back and occasional shift in footing, and he judged his tone and his words and his thumb brushing the rings on his fingers.

“But I am humbled by it, and solemnly accept it, even with a heavy heart, I accept it and every oath that follows, any promise I must keep, any choice I must face, whatever destiny awaits for me, _I accept it all_.”

The nerve.

_‘What the fuck.’_ Levi cursed as he stare at his king, watching his eyes avert from floor to ceiling to floor, as he spoke from memory and not from heart.

_‘Someone wrote him a fucking script.’_

“And this war these _fake martyrs_ have started – I will end it. And I will end it without mercy or hesitance, only justice. And its blade will strike true through man or beast until peace is at hand. No war shall plague my kingdom or haunt my people. For I am a servant of justice – I’m its eyes and its ears, and I shall be its hand when I carry it into battle.”

 

* * *

 

This brothel’s walls were of a singed maroon, intricate and elegant architecture and quiet and appealing demeanor attracting any noble.

There was luxury and lust inside, whispering flutes and thrumming drums filling the shadowy corridors and rooms, red and gold on the walls, tapestry, pillows and sheets, floorboards and furniture of mahogany. Men and women were lean and voluptuous, curvaceous and shameless in their exotic attires, dancers and lovers, caring and loyal until the last coin drops on their purse.

Merek liked it here, warm and naked in a sea of pillows, wine in his veins, a whore’s hips in his hands.

He barely heard the swinging of the door and scrubbing of boots over his huffs and the whore’s moans and random little sentences.

“My Lord Merek,” a harsh, imposing voice called from behind him “I’ve been sent to search for you, milord.”

He smiled, closing his eyes as he breathed in synch with his movements, long-dark hair sticking to his nape and temples.

“Rico, dear…” he said “… couldn’t you have waited outside…? Or knocked…?” he chuckled “It’s… rude to interrupt.”

“It’s rude to miss your brother’s coronation, milord.”

“Oh? Is it finally over?”

“Yes, it is.” she answered irritably “You’ve missed the entire ceremony.”

He imagined her supporting her weight in one foot, hands on her sword’s pommel, cloak adorning her shoulders and head in a halo of wolf fur, and pooling around her studded boots, silver eyes set judgingly on his bare ass, chin-length, admirably light-blonde hair framing her sharp face.

Merek chuckled again, “I don’t think I missed much, do you?”

Rico sighed, her patience a very thin thread now.

“ _Milord.”_ she hissed “Your _wife and_ _children_ are looking for you.” she announced through gritted teeth, “Should I tell them where you are, or are you coming back with me?”

He sighs, “Sure, sure… I’ll go. Just… just give me a moment, will you?” he asked, never looking back at her, never stopping his ministrations, “I’m almost finished.”

There were gasps, throaty breaths and moans, bodies moving in an intimate dance, thrusts, love bites and scratches, and then it was over as he promised.

He stood, sharing some jokes with the girl while searching for his pants.

Unaffected by Rico’s presence, he put them on once he found them, turning back to her, “You stood there the whole time? How embarrassing.”

“Not the first time. Certainly not the last.”

“You know, you _can_ join...” he teased, smirking and chuckling throatily, northern accent coating his consonants, his grey eyes set on her as he dressed.

“Not interested, milord.”

He chortled loudly, skimming his fingers through his hair, his braids by his temples a tad bit unkempt.

“Sure you are,” he countered bashfully, hands on his hips, “You just don’t want to hear whispers like ‘Lord Merek is bedding his Lieutenant!’”

When he turned to retrieve his shirt from beneath a couple pillows, the whore sitting by a mirror in her maroon attire, fixing her hair, Rico rolled her eyes.

The next minutes were spent in silence as the prince dressed himself in his fine boots, robe, cloak and gloves. After he had paid and bid the whore farewell, they left the establishment, heading in silence towards the stables.

Once on their saddles, Rico spoke disapprovingly, furrowing at him, “Was this really necessary, milord?”

“Hmm?” he murmured distractedly, turning to her while handling the reins, “What do you mean, lass?”

She bit back another sigh, despite their odd relationship, she still knew he was Lord Merek Fritz, third of his name, and she was Rico Brzenska, Garrison Lieutenant in Maria. He was a wolf, whereas she truly was just a dog.

“Ditching the coronation was… unpleasant, milord.”

Merek scoffed, tugging at the reins and leading his horse through the cobble stoned road, Rico following behind him, “What’s ‘unpleasant’ is repeating vows and praises over and over again while the Realm’s falling apart.”

“Still, milord,” she tempted “You should have attended. The King’s your brother.”

He clicked his tongue, “I don’t need to attend anything _precisely_ because he’s my brother. Plus you know Robert, and you know me… and you know how I can handle him.”

She grimaced, “What are you going to do, milord?”

He smiled, “I’ve told you of my intentions once, dear, don’t tell me you weren’t paying attention.” he teased with a smirk, glancing at her.

“I was.” she answered calmly “I meant how you’re going to start.”

He hummed, looking at the road ahead, “Well, now that the ceremony’s over, the meeting should be next. There will be Robert, the High-Constable and the Commanders. Lieutenant Levi of the Scouting Legion, will probably be there too… to represent Erwin Smith, since the man’s arrested…” he furrowed curiously, tilting his head “… the Commander’s sentence will probably be declared too, so he’ll be there.”

“And can you really attend this meeting?” Rico asked with a furrow of her own.

Merek scoffed again, “Well, of course, lass. I told you already - I’m the King’s brother.”

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t know Annie. You just happened to meet her in a tavern and traded a few words with her.”

“Yes… true.” Armin consents, eying him carefully “But for the short while that we spoke she offered a lot of good advice, and quite frankly - and I know that it’s… naïve of me, to say the least - I hoped that we could meet again in the future.”

Reiner barks with laughter.

“You fancied her, did you?”

“ _No!_ I just enjoyed talking to her!”

And Reiner laughs some more. Armin was a little disconcerted that the blond would think that way when there really was no reason for it - he barely knew the girl, didn’t even know her name, and a few weeks later she turned out to be a wanted murderer, or so it seemed, Armin’s not completely sure.

It was also curious that Reiner was now laughing when just a few minutes ago he was threatening to choke him.

But Armin didn’t care, Reiner didn’t seem so eager to kill him, right now, and that’s all he needed.

Armin should probably start thinking about finding a weapon. His dagger would be enough, he doubts Reiner would be much of a challenge with a blade pressed to his neck, and Armin’s smart and patient enough to find an opening.

“Right. And I’m the Virgin Mary.” Reiner says, all smug and friendly and with that sword still in his hand, and just what the hell is up with this guy’s personality, “You know, it takes guts to talk to Annie, so congratulations on that man, but it takes more to sweep her off her feet… do you think you can do that…?”

“I told you, it’s not like that!” he mutters. Reiner chuckles.

Armin is a little irritated, staring at his boots as he hugs himself, pulling the cloak tight around his slim frame to try to fight off the cold.

“What happened to you, deserter?” Reiner asks, smirk on his face, “What are you doing all the way up here?”

Armin warily looks up at him, arms tightening around his body as he shivers. Reiner is relaxed and confident, looking challengingly down at him, his head slightly tilted. He’s giving him a chance, Armin concludes, because he’s interested.

And that’s good.

Armin sighs, “Me and my squad were one month away from graduation. One morning, a Squad Leader from the Scouting Legion visits us and enrolls us on a Scouting mission, to sabotage the Savage army, approaching Sina.” he slowly explains.

And he tells him everything - the mission, the creatures, the dragon and their escape – and first Reiner just makes a disgruntled grimace, appalled and speechless when Armin mentions goblins and trolls, until he eventually howls with laughter, and Armin rolls his eyes and sighs as he battles shivering.

He insults him. Calls him mad and sick, tells him how much of a favor he would be doing him if he were to just kill him. Then he smugly calls him a cowardly cunt, points out he’s ridiculously weak-willed and nothing but a deserter, that he deserved to die, this he threatened as he stepped closer and gripped his sword tighter.

But Armin stood his ground and said, “Well, what about you?”

Reiner exhales, annoyed, towering in front of him.

“This again?” he mutters “Are you really going to compare yourself to me, you stupid piss-stain lunatic?”

Armin tilts his head as he arches his eyebrows, “Different occasions, same motives.”

“No.” he snarls, crushing snow and ice as he took one step further, forcing Armin take one back “No – not by a long shot.”

Armin’s palms are facing him again, and he’s forced to take another step backwards the more the blond warrior marched. There’s anger and determination in his eyes, and his eyebrows are digging into his forehead, shadowing his dusty golden orbs. His face is stern and tense, and Armin drops his shoulders as his eyes turn bleary.

But he isn’t afraid yet.

His knife is just two steps behind him.

“Listen, Reiner, I’m famished and dehydrated, but I’m not insane… if I were to fabricate a lie, I’d put a little more effort into it.” Armin adds quickly, swallowing dryly when Reiner stops and straightens his back, “It’s ridiculous, but it’s the truth. Monsters exist, and they are the Savages’ pets. And It all adds up - so much of this world that we don’t know, lands not explored, not mapped, all possibly because these uncharted lands are actually territory to mythological creatures! Also, note that said uncharted territory is _home to the Savages_!” he exclaims “And then there’s the Inquisition blatantly refusing the investigation on topics such as the myths, persecuting those who do, locking them, interrogating and torturing them… censoring books and forcing Christianity on men...”

Reiner huffs and rolls his eyes, shaking his head, staring into the distance.

Armin carefully steps backwards.

“It’s the truth, Reiner. Believe in what you want, really, but know I’m not lying.” he cautiously prods, watching Reiner scrunch up his nose and bring a hand to his temple, “I ran because I was scared. All I saw was smoke and fire, and all I heard was roaring and dying men.” he murmurs, swallowing dryly “It ate half of Thomas, right in front of me. And Mina was a smoking carcass when I looked at her.”

Reiner looks at him then, the sun catching his eyes and turning his glare into an angered and chilly stare.

Armin doesn’t look away.

“I was terrified. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want Eren or Mikasa to die. So I ran.” he says, letting the wind howl and whip around as he stares silently at the broad, quiet man. Then he swallows again and straightens his back, and then he speaks, “I don’t think you killed the king Reiner. I think the Savages have better reasons to attempt that-“

“You don’t know me.” Reiner says “Maybe I did kill the king. Maybe I’m a Savage.”

“Then why aren’t you with the rest of your people?” Armin cautiously points out, watching Reiner narrow his eyes into golden slits, “No. I think you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and so desperate were you to protect yourself and your friends that you did what you did – what, I do not know, but it got you in a wanted poster.”

Reiner just glares.

“Now look me in the eye and tell me you and I are different.”

 

* * *

 

Eren’s cheek is throbbing, stinging under the cold air, a small and thin cut on his cheekbone screeching under the cruel winter. He almost _feels_ his skin growing yellow, purple and blue, but he barely cares, not the worst punch to the face his gotten.

Mikasa is way worse.

The wound needs to be seared close. He thinks the uniform should be able to stop the bleeding well enough, until they find some shelter where she can be properly treated, that is. She should consider herself lucky her senses are as acute as they are and that she managed to _miraculously_ dodge that, but that wound is going to need ointments and vinegar – that they don’t have – and even so, he’s not entirely sure it won’t infect, and if that happens, what the fuck will they do?

They’ll have to steal the medicine, or travel to a village and search for-

“Okay, shut up.” he says, stopping to breathe for a while“… Armin will know what to do.” he convinces himself.

He pushes a hand through his hair, ignoring the blood and grease and all the other things on his body right now, and walks over to the warrior, still lying on the snow, turning her belly-up.

She’s wearing a black cloak with a furry hood, a black scarf around her face. Eren sees a patch of blonde hair. She’s wearing a tight-fitting, dark leather armor full of belts and pouches, with some intricate patterns carved into her shoulder-guards and vambraces. Her gloves do not cover her fingers entirely, and there’s fur at the top half of her boots.

Eren kneels and pulls down the scarf. He frowns.

She’s seen this girl on a poster before.

Annie Leonhardt, wanted for regicide, a bounty of 20,000 gold pieces on her head.

“Holy shit-” he murmurs, checking the girl’s neck for a pulse. It’s very faint, “Armin needs to see her.” he concludes, looking around alarmingly.

It’s the first good news they’ve received in a while. It could be their ticket to forgiveness by law, acceptance back to the military and civilization… _his_ ticket to reclaim his honor.

_‘And if_ she’s _here, could the other two could be as well…?’_

Certainly not. They probably scattered, ran off in different directions into different corners of the world, alone with their bounties.

_‘Or maybe they stayed together, to look after each other…’_ he reasoned _‘… it is a big, dangerous country.’_

That’s what he did, at least. But their crimes aren’t exactly the same, are they?

‘ _Armin_ _needs to see her!’_

Eren walks towards the horse, removing his gloves then putting his hands upwards, palms facing the sturdy beast, approaching them to its snout. It doesn’t seem too mistrustful, snorting and whipping its tail about. Eren searches the warrior’s satchel, hanging from the saddle. He finds rope.

He ties Leonhardt’s hands behind her back then carries her towards the horse, setting her on the animal’s posterior. He then carefully lifts Mikasa up and sits her on the saddle, climbing in behind her.

A sturdy horse like this should have no trouble carrying three people.

 

* * *

 

“Hey…” he croaks at a certain point “… you don’t happen to have anything to drink… do you…?”

Reiner, that had been pondering over his story, staring down at his boots, looks up at him and gently frowns, not showing much apathy.

Armin avoids his stare a couple of times, lowering his head, “… p-perhaps some mead… that would really warm me up… or, i-if you had it… maybe you could give me some wine…?”

Reiner frowns deeper.

“I really don’t have anything…” he went on “A-and I could really use a drink right now… just to warm me up… just a little. Please.”

Then he stares for a while, watching the hunched boy with his sunken cheeks, bleary eyes and bony frame under that faded cloak. It is pretty clear to him that Armin is in no position to have his wishes granted, what is the utility of a sip of wine before your death, really? And why is he still alive, why hasn’t Reiner struck him down and went on with his business? He should be going back by now – his stalling is probably worrying Bert… and Annie will bury him in insults once she hears of what he’s done.

Of course that doesn’t change anything. Reiner still won’t move, and Reiner still knows the answers to all those questions.

When guilt is your best-friend and loneliness is your shadow, any stranger is a welcome guest.

“Sure.” he mutters as he turns to retrieve his canteen from his horse’s saddle.

He doesn’t hear Armin kneel down and retrieve his dagger, hiding it in his belt, behind his back.

 

* * *

 

When Eren leaves the woods and first glimpses camp, his first instinct is to bolt forward and trample the tall, blond warrior currently in the presence of Armin.

He’s terrified. He shudders at the vision of his best friend facing that menace, completely hopeless and defenseless. And the calm he’s witnessing right now deeply confuses Eren – he’s gingerly drinking from a canteen, wine trailing down the golden hairs on his chin, and the armed giant is watching, lazily holding a sword in his hand.

He grinds his molars and frowns deeply as he grips the reins.

For a second he hopes that could be Reiner Braun, and if so then they would be on an insanely stupid streak of luck – which also means that the other knight can’t be far away.

But it could also be a Savage… though he never found a lone warrior, since they always seem to travel in groups.

Maybe it’s a talkative bandit.

Eren shakes his head, then swallows and trains his scowl on the warrior, commanding the steed to trot forward.

If it’s Reiner, he’ll use Annie. If not, Eren’s quick enough to nock an arrow and shoot before Reiner strikes his friend down. He can only hope.

He screeches a whistle.

 

* * *

 

 

Reiner snaps into attention as the eerie whistle cuts through the air, snapping his head towards the sound, frowning as his innards boil as he recognizes the horse and realizes its rider is missing, traded for a wild-looking brunet carrying an unconscious woman.

Still, he remains cool.

“Friend of yours?” he asks.

“Yeah. That’s Eren-“ he gasps at the end as Reiner unceremoniously grabs him by the collar and throws him in front of him. His face burns at the snow’s caress, his eyes gleaming and his breath becoming foggy.

“Greetings, stranger!” Reiner says “Fine horse, you have there. Where did you get it?”

There’s animosity coating his words, a threat breathed out into the air as he grips the sword tighter and steps next to Armin’s body, pressing his foot on his back, watching the rider’s scowl and fiery eyes.

“Get away from him.” he says, halting Annie’s horse a few feet away, dismounting, a bow in his hand.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to make demands, my friend.” Armin groans and stutters as Reiner presses some of his weight into his ribs, smirking as the man’s frown grows angrier and his glare grows thicker, “Now answer the question.”

Eren holds his gaze for a while before straightening his back, inhaling and relenting, “Sure,” he mutters, walking towards the horse and hoisting up into his shoulder a small and still body, all dressed in black, “I stole it from her.”

He drops the small body into the snow with as much grace as Reiner, relishing on the way the blond’s previous calm flooded out from his glare, as he now stares worriedly at the snow caked, pale faced woman, watching as his jaw shakes and his trembling lips part ever so slightly as his hold on his blade slackens.

For two seconds the burly blond seemed nothing but a broken man, and Eren would have loved if Reiner had broken down and cried in front of him.

Then Reiner closed his eyes, and the muscles on his face started twitching, his eyebrows, his cheeks, his nostrils, his mouth.

His breathing is erratic. He’s furious.

When he looked back at Eren he seemed determined to tear him limb from limb.

“You fucking cunt.” he slowly mutters, hunching his shoulders as his hand turns white, “You’re fucking dead, you hear?! I’m gonna gut you like a pig, and then take a piss on your corpse!”

“She’s not dead.” Eren calmly informs him, but it does nothing to tame Reiner’s rage, “Yet.” He adds, drawing little shapes in the air with the tip of Mikasa’s sword.

Then Reiner calms his breathing, sobering up while still glaring hard at him.

“Well then… it seems we’re at an impasse.” he confidently says “You have a hostage, I have a hostage... what now, uh, deserter?”

From his peripheral, he sees Armin’s head slowly, so slowly, lift up from the snow. He can hear him clattering his teeth, feels the occasional shiver up and down his frail, sick, little body. He imagines the defeated, terrified look on his face as he hopelessly looks at his friend.

He doesn’t see him wink.

“So? What say you?” he challengingly juts his chin at Eren “Shall we find out who breaks first?” he offers with a smirk.

Then pain sears through his foot, making him jolt and scream, back-step and wobble until the world flips and he falls, embraced by cold as his foot seems aflame. In his stupor he drops his sword, and Armin hurriedly stands and picks it up, the brunet boy quickly joining him. When he looks down, there’s a knife at the base of his left foot, his blood painting his boot and squirting out, spotting his leg and the snow.

He screams, in agony, in rage, “You shits! You stupid fucks, you’re so dead!”

He’s confused. And he’s a fool. Where did the knife come from? Did he have it with him the whole time?

“There was rope on the girl’s horse. Maybe there is in his too.”

“Okay, I’m going to check, keep an eye on him.”

“Sure.”

“You’re so dead!” he promises, squirming, feeling a boot on his own chest, mercilessly pressing him down. He wants to check his foot, he needs to check his foot, “When I get up, I’m gonna make you wish you’ve never been born! I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”

Now Bertholdt is their last hope.

He wants him to save him, he really does, and so strongly is he hoping for it.

And he doesn’t want his friend to be cautious or think this through. He wants him to help him up so he can butcher these fucks himself.

And he will - oh yes, _he will_.

 

* * *

 

Erwin decided to keep his room’s windows open to hear the roaring crowds and soldiers and the chiming trumpets, and now that night had settled, he found it not particularly chilly, feeling a small comfort in the winter breeze carrying the smell of fire and grilled meat, and the distant music and laughter in the marketplace.

Erwin was waiting, reading some book he had randomly picked from the bookshelves. His chains sang and whispered with every arm movement, and he found himself often scratching at his golden stubble, to top his annoyance.

_‘This is being unnecessarily prolonged…’_ the commander complained _‘The meeting was scheduled for after the coronation… it’s been a while since it’s been over, what’s taking them so long?’_

Erwin wasn’t nervous of what sentence was to be delivered – he had accepted all consequences when he had called the order – it was just that there were matters that needed immediate attention and there was no time to waste.

Knuckles rapped his door twice before it was ungraciously opened by Ser Knight-Commander Nile Dok.

“Hey.” he greeted breathily, eyelids heavy as he lazily closed the door behind him, walking towards Erwin’s table while removing his gauntlets, “Just getting a drink before the meeting.” he informed tiredly, setting the plate and chainmail gloves by the table.

Erwin scoffed quietly, closing his book and setting it aside, “Long day?”

“… You have no idea.” he sighed, heading towards a cabinet, opening it and scanning through the wine bottles and silver goblets, “Want a drink?”

“Sure.” Erwin politely concurred, crossing his forearms over the table’s surface.

How curious of Nile to visit him out of nowhere, and just before an important meeting, conveniently enough.

“Four year old red wine, directly out of MP cellars. It ought to be good.” Nile said conversationally, sitting in front of Erwin and filling the goblets, then handing one over to the blond while resting his feet on the seat adjacent to him.

The silver was warm from the uselessness of the cabinet. Erwin didn’t usually drink.

He tasted it, enjoying the wine’s sweet warmth.

“It is.” he agreed with an approving tilt of the head.

“It always is.” Nile sighed out after a long sip.

Erwin snorted softly, humor mostly absent in him, shifting his gaze to the gaunt and tired knight in shiny, silver armor in front of him, now twirling the goblet in his slender fingers.

“So… what’s your impression of the King?” he asked, catching Nile’s attention.

He made a strange expression, lifting one corner of his upper lip and softly furrowing.

“Typical.” he finally said, then added in murmurs, looking back at silver, “All talk of promises and justice.”

“You don’t believe in our King?” Erwin murmured too.

Nile looked back at him and briefly frowned, then his expression shifted to the tired, sarcastic one again, “Oh, I believe him… like I believed his father… and the father before him and basically everyone who talks all righteously like that.”

“That’s a very dishonorable opinion for a knight.”

“You clearly don’t hang around nobles very often.”

“How blasphemous, Lord-Commander Nile.”

He scoffed, resting his neck against the chair, “Go to hell Erwin, I’ve had a rough day… this city just gets worse and worse…”

“How so?”

“Drunken brawls, some ‘innocent’ thievery… you know… bread, apples or some coin purses… then I organized His Grace’s and his family’s guards, their patrols and shifts – believe it or not, I _learned_ from that regicide – and now I’ve got this freaking meeting of which necessary energy I’m currently absent of.” he rambled, ending with a long sip.

“Hence the drink?”

Nile sighed, setting down the goblet “Hence the drink.”

Erwin slowly nodded, “Now I’m curious to meeting the King.”

His eyebrows rose and then fell, “Shouldn’t be long now.”

Erwin stared at the knight in front of him, and his gaze is so intense Nile looked up at him, blinking at his mysterious, deep blue orbs.

“Why the delay, Nile?”

He shrugged, “The King wanted to address his people… then dinner… and now I suppose they’re… most likely waiting for me?”

“You’re stalling. Why? You know how important this meeting is.”

Nile shrugged again, “Like I said. I needed a drink.” he murmured with some finality.

Erwin wondered if he was having last minute regrets, which is odd, since he had been so smug about arresting him… but maybe trialing an old friend isn’t as pleasing as Nile thought it would be.

Either way, he accepted his answer then took another sip, setting down the goblet before drumming his fingers on the table.

“So… how’s Marie?” he asked tentatively.

“Fine.” he answered nonchalantly, his weariness didn’t affect his mood too much if he was willing to talk about his personal life so openly, especially considering how fond of the girl he had been in the past, before the madness of the Scouts, “Pregnant of our third.”

“Congratulations.” Erwin said genuinely, smiling and slightly lifting his cup at him.

Nile lazily hummed and raised his, too.

“To the one thing we must honor.”

“To families.” Erwin guessed somewhat hesitantly, and they both drank.

“I don’t suppose you ever thought of settling down?” Nile asked, setting down the glass and twirling it again.

“I don’t like the idea of starting a family knowing I could die any instance.”

Nile nodded slowly, “That’s why I left.”

Erwin smiled, looking down at the table, “I still remember that time … when we used to be in the same squad, under Shadis’s command…”

“With Mike, Nanaba and Hanji.” Nile added with a snort “I heard those two idiots are finally together, the brick-headed shits. God, what on earth did it take – did Mike finally quit that hound-like haircut?” he mocked, bringing his hands up to his face, mimicking bangs with his fingers as he sniffed and gutturally barked.

“Oh, Nile…” Erwin chuckled and shook his head before falling silent, eying the table before looking up again, mumbling “You didn’t know? Nanaba lost a leg… Mike took it really hard.”

“Nanaba lost a _what_?!” he muttered appallingly “W-what- how?! When?! I mean, yeah I noticed her limping a lot, but I thought that was… you know… because of Mike.”

Erwin stared for a second before bursting out laughing.

“… it’s not _that_ preposterous.”

Erwin was still smiling when he answered, “I should hang around nobles more often, and you should visit the Scouts’ camps more often. There are as many amputees in my camps as are dishonest men in your castle.”

Nile furrowed and fell silent, swallowing back anything resembling guilt for not being there for an old friend.

“It’s a cruel world we live in, Nile.” Erwin said, finishing his drink, setting the empty goblet in the table with a thud and then looking back at him, “But she’s fine. She insists on remaining active, actually. I don’t mind, as long as she knows her limits – I don’t tolerate recklessness.”

Then Nile stared and laughed, just like he did. Erwin thinks he understands - it truly was an ironic statement from his part, considering his job.

The knight lowers his laughter to quiet chuckles, until he simply remains smiling at the wine that’s left in his glass, a strange gleam in his eyes, and Erwin stares as a quizzical eyebrow slowly, gently, rises up his forehead, because Nile just looks sad, and Nile is never sad.

“Cruel world indeed.” he mumbles.

Erwin has questions hitting his teeth, wonders how Nile hasn’t even remotely drunk enough to start speaking nonsense.

Unless he’s confessing something, in a very reserved, stubborn, _Nile_ sort of way.

“Now, where is this coming from?”

Nile watched him with narrowed, dark eyes, scowling at him, his mouth shut tightly, his nostrils gently flared - like it’s all Erwin’s fault – like he doesn’t want to be a massive prick, like all he wants is to be with his family and melt his armor, like there’s a massive boulder on burden on his shoulders and a headache from his secrets, and Nile absolutely hates it all and hates Erwin for figuring him out.

Erwin’s right. Nile wants his help. So desperately, he would be willing to plead.

The knight downed the rest of his wine, dropping the goblet with a harsh pang and standing up while putting his gauntlets on.

“That’s enough talking - get up, Smith, time for your trial.”

 

* * *

 

Bertholdt swallowed his worries when Reiner and Annie didn’t show up thirty minutes after their stipulated time, busying himself with chopping vegetables and heating up a kettle of water for soup, but an hour later and no sign of his comrades and the tall man started feebly convincing himself that everything was alright and that there was no need to worry. He was still mumbling to himself even as he started dressing his black plate armor, strapping a greatsword to his back and saddling up their remaining horse, Chester, their grey and strong draft horse.

Bertholdt searched thoroughly.

Down by the hidden passage they once found and deemed safe to cross if one day they needed to safely leave, and where they found and pillaged a bandit camp. In the woods, where Annie usually goes, and by Reiner’s lake, now completely frozen over.

“Reiner!” he often called out, wind buffeting pines and leaves his only answer, “Annie!” he shouted again, Chester huffing little clouds into the air.

He always convinced himself of their safety, no matter how much silence he retrieved, or how fast and hard his heart beat in his chest.

And he never wavered, always moving, always calling out their names. He never stopped, not when his lungs stung from the icy oxygen or his throat grew soar, and not when tears prickled the corners of his eyes, bleary from the wind crashing against his face and from the talons tight around his heart.

When he started skirting Annie’s woods, at one point, further down in a clearing, Bertholdt found a lone bundle of black amidst the snow.

Still and lifeless, slowly being buried under the winter. And struck by his curiosity, he trotted closer, his heart hammering his ears. And when he got close enough, he saw a patch of bright blonde hair, so, so familiar it hurt.

“Annie!” he gasped, galloping towards her, stopping beside her and dismounting, willing himself to fall onto his knees beside her, gently cradling her into his arms, like only threads and ribbons kept her body together, and he put hair away from her face, so sickeningly white and blue and purple, slender veins snaking around her heavily closed eyelids.

“Annie, A-Annie! Please, talk to me!” he mumbled, his tears searing his gelid cheeks, and when did he start crying?

“Annie! P-please, c’mon, don’t do this- not after all the we- please, please, Annie…!” he mumbled, removing a gauntlet and hurriedly placing two fingers beneath her jaw, snow and icy skin burning his warm digits.

But nothing burned harder than that faint, lazy, thudding vibration beneath her skin, and Bertholdt didn’t even think, so relieved that he was, when he ever so softly cupped her cheek with his timid, trembling hand, drawing her face with his fingers, just grazing her ear as his thumb slid down her face, following the crook of her nose before trailing her purple lips, immediately settling on her chin as he hunched over, touching her forehead with his.

“How touching.”

Bertholdt’s heart clashed against his ribs, and it shuddered in his chest when he felt the tip of a blade against the nape of his neck.

And how cruel. Oh, how cruel.

“Don’t move, or Reiner dies.”

Bertholdt’s jaw started trembling as his hands grasped the small body beneath him.

Why?

How did this happen to them? _Why them?_ Can’t the world just _leave them alone?_

Can’t they be in peace?

“Who-“ he swallows “Who are you? What do you want?”

He hears chuckling behind him, and he tempts to turn his head, now noticing a ridiculously small tent that has probably always been there but he never noticed, so fixated was he on Annie. He also sees a flimsy blond boy holding the reins of Annie’s horse and riding the one that belongs to Reiner, his tall and broad friend stumbling through the snow as he follows, stepping on his own feet, groaning and hissing through his teeth, his hands tied around his back.

Reiner looks at him then, and Bertholdt feels so crushed he could sob.

“We haven’t done anything,” the man behind him answers, “But we know someone who’s just _aching_ to see you Kingslayers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT I MADE IT. I UPDATED. I'M BACK.
> 
> Well, I suppose we can conclude that I can't keep a promise on the internet to save my life, so I suppose apologies are in order, right? So I'm very sorry for the insane hiatus, I got writer's block and then I entered COLLEGE. So tons of work and not much time. I'm very sorry people, but I guess that means that I won't be able to keep that update schedule I had in the beginning of this (speaking of which, THIS FIC'S BIRTHDAY WAS A WHILE AGO. HAPPY B-DAY, CRIMSON TALE) but that doesn't mean it will take me 8 months to post, so just be patient, would you kindly?
> 
> So I think that's everything.
> 
> Did you guys like the chapter, do you think it was worth the wait? And what did you think about the OC's? I'm trying them out. Leave a review, tell me what you thought.
> 
> (:
> 
> Okay, that's enough, I'm out, byeeeee


End file.
